


Springtime and Possibilities

by JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle



Series: Summer and Fall 2015 [8]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bitty gets a job (or two), Discussion of Anxiety, Hockey seasons end, M/M, spring of Year 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-11-09 06:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 59,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11098512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle/pseuds/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle
Summary: Jack and Bitty work through the end of their respective seasons, and Bitty faces the end of another year with plans to stay in Providence for the summer.





	1. March 26-April 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I'm playing in Ngozi's sandbox. Not beta'd. Pls let me know if you see anything that needs to be fixed.  
> Update schedule will be variable; work's kind of crazy right now. But I expect four or five chapters total. Also, the rating may change. Please check tags.

March 26, Bitty

Jack wasn’t here. Bitty wanted to cry, and Jack was in Minnesota. Bitty didn’t know what to do, and Jack was on the ice and wouldn’t be available even to talk for at least an hour.

Ransom and Holster sat heavily on the benches in front of their lockers, faces downcast. There would not be another trip to the Frozen Four, and Bitty wanted to cry.

They’d made it to the Northeast Regional final, one of the last eight teams still playing, but they’d wanted more. They all wanted more. 

It was different from last year, when they came so close to taking the championship, when Jack hadn’t even come into the locker room until the rest of the team changed. Last year, they had been Jack’s team, Jack had been Bitty’s captain, and Bitty had wondered if he’d be overstepping by embracing Jack when he found him crying in the loading dock. Jack had just looked so sad, Bitty couldn’t help himself. He wished he’d been able to play just enough better, just enough to slip a goal by the goalie for Jack. It wasn’t until later that Bitty came to understand that Jack wasn’t so much disappointed for himself -- he already knew he’d sign with one of the several interested NHL teams -- he was upset because he felt he’d let the team down.

This year, everyone on the team wanted to do well to prove that they weren’t a fluke, that they were still a good team without Jack. Ransom and Holster wanted to show that they were good captains.

And they were. One of the top eight teams in the country. Just, tonight, Boston College had been a little bit better. And Bitty wanted nothing more than to curl himself into his boyfriend’s arms and be comforted. But Jack wasn’t here.

Ransom and Holster had fist-bumped everyone on the way into the locker room and Holster embraced Chowder, hugging him close and saying, “You were a beast, man. Sorry we let you down.”

Bitty took his phone off the shelf of his locker stall and sent a quick text to Jack.

_I’m sure you already know, but we lost._

After he showered, he made sure all his gear was stowed in his bag and headed to the team bus for the drive back to Samwell.

He flopped into his seat at the back of the bus, wishing again that Jack was next to him to share an earbud. He pulled his phone out even though he knew there was no chance that Jack would have responded yet.

There was nothing from Jack, but there was a text from Coach.

_Saw your game on the Internet. Tough loss. I’ll be up for a while if you want to talk._

Eric looked around the bus, realized that there would be at least 15 minutes before everyone was there, and put his earbuds in before tapping the icon to call his father.

It was something he never would have thought of doing before this year. Before last month, really, when Coach had come to New England to watch Eric play hockey. It was the first time his father had seen Bitty play since maybe Bitty’s second season in high school, when he was playing in a co-ed, no-check league.

Coach came to a Friday night game at Boston College -- a game Samwell had won, thank you very much, despite the rowdy home crowd on their feet for the Eagles nearly the whole game.

He’d spent Saturday touring first Boston and then Samwell with Eric, and come to their home game against Dartmouth on Sunday -- another win, this one in overtime, with a goal Eric scored.

Eric didn’t think he was imagining the new respect in his father’s eyes at the end of the weekend.

“You play against some big boys,” Coach had said. “I’d tell you to be careful, but nobody ever won anything that way. You play smart though, you hear?”

“Yes, sir,” Eric said. “I’m faster than nearly all of ‘em, anyway. They can’t hit me if they don’t catch me.”

Coach had snorted, almost fondly, and said, “Seems to me that’s not the way it works when you’re headed towards them. But I guess all that figure skating was worth something if you can do that twirly thing to get past them.”

Eric had grinned, and said, “I’ll have you know my spin-o-ramas are renowned throughout New England.”

Since then, Coach had made a point of watching as many of Eric’s games as he could, and their phone conversations had focused more on hockey than football for the first time in Eric’s life. Coach was full of questions: about strategy, about skills, about conditioning and diet. It wasn’t long before he was offering opinions as well, and some of them even had merit, Eric thought. Coach might be a newcomer to hockey, but he’d lived his whole life in the world of sports and he had a better grasp of the psychology of team sports than most anyone else Eric had ever met.

When the call connected, Eric said, “Hi Coach.”

“Hi, Junior. How’re you doing?”

Eric shrugged before he remembered that his father couldn’t see him.

“All right, I guess,” he said. “I’ve been better.”

“I’m sure you have,” Coach said. “It’s never easy ending the season with a loss. But you’ve got to remember, only two kinds of team can end on a win: the ones that didn’t make the playoffs at all, and the champion. And there’s only one champion. So most of the time, it’s not gonna be you. Getting to the playoffs and getting as far as you did, that’s something to be proud of.”

“I know,” Eric said. “But I don’t think any of us are feeling very proud right now.”

“No, I wouldn’t think so,” Coach said. “It’s like when you used to skate, and you came in second. You almost seemed madder ’n when you didn’t get a medal or a trophy at all. But it made you try harder the next time.”

“Yes, sir,” Eric said. “I guess. But next time for us won’t be until next year, and Ransom and Holster --- uh, Justin and Adam -- will be gone, and Lardo too. It won’t be the same.”

“It never is,” Coach said. “But you still get to try again. Now go back to school and have the kind of party you can’t tell me about, and don’t forget to call your mother tomorrow. It’s Easter.”

“Yes, sir,” Eric said. Tomorrow Jack would be back in Providence, and Eric had planned to go see him. Now that the hockey season was over, though, there would probably be a kegster. Maybe he could still see Jack, though. Maybe Jack would come to the kegster, and they could sneak off. Maybe.

Tomorrow he was going to Skype his mother, too. They could talk about the baking he was doing, although he didn’t suppose drunk college students would be too fussy about their sweets. And he was going to tell them, officially, that he wouldn’t be coming home for the summer. 

“I’ll remember to call,” he said.

********************************************

March 27, Jack

Jack rolled over in his bed and groaned against the light.

He was 26 years old and felt 60. At least. And now he didn’t even have Bits to look forward to.

Bitty had planned to come down on the bus around 11 and spend the day with Jack, the last off day he would have for weeks.

But SMH had lost last night, and Ransom and Holster were putting together a mandatory celebration of the season/mourning session for the loss, and Eric was spending the day in the Haus kitchen baking cookies and mini-pies and cake pops and who knew what else.

Jack stumbled into the kitchen, his eyes lighting on the KitchenAid mixer.

He wished Bits was here using it. He’d bought this place for the kitchen, for Bitty, before he even knew for sure that they would be a thing. Maybe choosing a condo based on its baking potential should have clued him in about what he really wanted.

He put coffee on and and started measuring ingredients into the blender for a protein shake. He missed Bitty, wished Bitty was here so he could console him after the Wellies’ loss, but he knew Bitty needed to be with his team today. And the team needed Bitty and his particular brand of sunshine as well. Last year, when they’d lost in the final, Bitty was the only one who made anything feel better at all. But maybe that was particular to Jack.

Jack drank his shake and checked the time. Ten a.m., so he’d slept about seven hours after the flight back from Minnesota. Today was Easter Sunday, and with no game scheduled, the team had kept its players free of commitments. After this, if they could keep it together for the last week or so, they would make the playoffs. Between Bitty’s classwork and Jack’s hockey schedule, there wouldn’t be a good time for them to be together until after the regular season. Maybe there would be a day between playoff series, if the stars aligned. Maybe Bitty could come to a playoff game or two now that his season was over. 

_Crisse,_ this would be so much easier if Bitty had a car and could just drive back and forth to Providence. That would make it possible to see each other for a couple of hours on an evening when both were home, but there just wasn’t time for Eric to take a train or a bus, or for Jack to drive back and forth to drop him off.

He’d tried, early in the season. He wanted to be the best boyfriend he could for Bitty, because that’s what Bitty deserved, but it turned out he really did need to respect his sleep schedule to stay fit enough to play well. Then he found out that Bits was struggling to keep up with school and his hockey was suffering too, and they’d had to cut back on Bitty’s trips to Providence, at least when school was in session.

But Bitty had spent a week after Christmas, and much of spring break, since his team still had practices and games and going home to Georgia was out of the question. That week, Jack had insisted that Bitty just take his car. With no classes and the campus empty, SMH practices were in the middle of the day, more or less coinciding with Jack’s own, and either Bitty would drop Jack off on his way or Jack would catch a ride with Tater or Poots. Really, things were so much simpler once their teams knew.

Once they told the guys in the Haus, Jack didn’t have to worry about sneaking in or out any more, or make excuses for spending time in Bits’ room or the kitchen. Sure, there were fines, way more than were really justified, but the dryer had been on its last leg for years and the washer wasn’t far behind. He knew what the team was up to, and while he had considered just outright buying new appliances, it made him feel more a part of the team to make a sappy comment and hear the “Foiine!” ring out.

Jack swallowed the last of his shake and contemplated the day ahead. The kegster wouldn’t really get going until about 10 -- no classes tomorrow for Easter Monday -- and Eric would be busy until then. But if Jack went up early, there might be an hour here or there when he could take a break.

And traffic this morning shouldn’t be bad.

Mind made up, Jack pulled on his running shoes and headed out for a light jog. Day off or no, he needed a little exercise to feel like himself. But he could shower and hit the road by noon.

He texted Ransom before he left..

_Bits already baking?_

_Bro, you have no idea how much he has planned,_ Ransom returned.

_But probably no real food. I’m headed down; I’ll bring lunch for everyone,_ Jack texted _._

From Ransom: _Bro!_

Jack smiled, then texted again.

_Don’t tell Bitty. It’s a surprise._

_I should fine you for that,_ Ransom sent back. _But I want food, so._

************************************

March 28, Bitty

“Jack was right, you know,” Bitty said.

He was pulling his extra gear out of his locker at Faber, packing it into his bag for storage in the Haus basement for now. 

Holster was across the way, looking down at his skates. Ransom was folding his spare socks into a neat roll.

“You guys were great captains.”

“We tried,” Holster said. “We tried to keep everyone on the same page, keep everyone focused, be there for everyone.”

“I don’t know what more we could have done,” Ransom said. “But somehow, it never seemed like enough. There was always something we didn’t account for. But I’m not sure what.”

“There’s not,” Bitty said. “You did everything a captain should -- more, maybe, because there are two of you. I know y’all had my back all season, no matter what.”

“Which is why you felt you had to hide your relationship with Jack the first two months of the season,” Holster said. He was smiling, but Bitty heard an undertone of bitterness.

“Oh, come on,” Bitty said, sounding put-upon himself. “You know that was nothing to do with you. Y’all were the first people we told -- well, other than Jack’s parents -- and it turned out you knew anyway, so it’s not like I was doing a good job of hiding it.”

“Bro, you have no poker face,” Ransom said.

“Says you,” Bitty said. “My parents didn’t even know until after Christmas.”

“You sure about that?” Holster said. “I mean, you didn’t think any of us knew.”

“Hush, you,” Bitty said. “I was trying to be nice. I wish I could have played better for y’all on Saturday.”

“‘S OK,” Ransom said. “Bits, you played your heart out. You played your heart out all season, and you’ve come so far. I’d hardly recognize you from when you first showed up. Unless you had pie. That hasn’t changed.”

“Seriously, little bro,” Holster said, shouldering his bag and going to stand near Ransom by the door. “It’s been a privilege playing with you, and knowing you.”

“Aww,” Bitty said. “You, too. Both of you. But we’ve got weeks before graduation yet.”

After they left, Bitty sighed and stood to check the top shelf of his locker to make sure he hadn’t left anything. Then he pulled Jack’s red flannel shirt around his shoulders and prepared to walk out of Faber for the last time of the season.

He’d be back, of course, to skate for conditioning and for fun. The team would get ice time for scrimmaging and goofing off, and he might even be able to get some time with the new figure skates if he was lucky.

But the team -- SMH 2015-2016 -- would never be together in the same way again, just like the 2014-2015 team was gone after their loss in the final. Bitty didn’t remember the transition being so difficult when he was a freshman, maybe because he didn’t know any seniors well besides Johnson (if anyone could be said to know Johnson well), maybe because he missed the last game with a concussion and wasn’t allowed on the ice for months.

Then again, at graduation last year, he’d thought that he would never be close to Jack again, and look what happened. Rans and Holster and Lardo (Lardo! What would they do without Lardo?) wouldn’t necessarily disappear from his life just because they were graduating and moving on.

His phone buzzed as he shouldered his bag. He pulled it from his pocket, hoping for a text from Jack after he got off the ice at practice.

Instead, it was an email from tgallegos@nhlfalconers.com.

He opened it and read as he walked, narrowly avoiding the trash can that marked the corner of the quad. Tina had reached out to friends in the Providence public relations community, and it looked like there was an internship -- a paid internship! -- at Hasbro Children’s Hospital that Tina thought he would be perfect for.

“It’s only 20 hours a week, and it pays $15 an hour,” Tina wrote in her email. “But it’s something. I talked with Jacqui myself and told her about your social media experience, and she’d really like to pick your brain. Email your resume and cover letter as soon as you can. I have a good feeling about this!”

Eric tried to do the math in his head and gave up before he got back to the Haus. It wouldn’t be enough, quite, to cover what he needed, he thought. But if he could add another part-time job, even if it was only a few hours a week, it would be.

Once he reached his room, Eric opened his laptop and pulled up the calculator. Yes, he was right. The internship lasted 10 weeks, and over that time, it would more than make up for what he made in six weeks of skating camp in Madison. But it would be less than he made last summer when he counted the maintenance work at the school, and what he made at the farmer’s market. His vlog was doing better, but the ad income wasn’t quite enough either, especially if he wanted to have any spending money.

But it was enough to stay in Providence. He would be able to pick up a few hours somewhere, he was sure of it. 

So he quickly emailed Jacqui at Hasbro Children’s Hospital, dropping Tina’s name and attaching the resume Ransom had helped him put together. He thought for a moment before including his YouTube channel, Twitter handle and Instagram username.

He sent it, and then quickly called up his Twitter account to make sure there was nothing too incriminating.

Then he texted Jack.

_Tina referred me for an internship at Hasbro Children’s Hospital! If I get it, I think I can stay for the summer!_

That had been the deal Eric made with his parents when he talked to them on Easter: he could stay in Providence for the summer as long as he had a job that would pay him what he would have made in Madison. Between his scholarship and his parents, his major expenses -- tuition and housing -- were covered, but Eric had to make enough for food, books and incidentals (baking supplies).

Jack had told Eric not to worry, he could make up any shortfall, but on that point Eric agreed with his parents.

“I have to be able to pay for the things I need,” Eric said. “Presents are one thing -- and you’re far too generous -- but I have to be able to depend on myself. I’m already going to be freeloading by not paying any rent.”

“Can I at least help you find work?” Jack said. “Or ask Tina to help you?”

“Of course,” Eric said. “That’s networking.”

***************************************

March 29, Jack

“Hey, Tina, thanks for helping Bittle,” Jack said, sticking his head in her doorway.

It had been months since he was required to meet with her every Tuesday to go over social media and any other PR commitments, but he made it a point to stop by every so often anyway.

“Anything for the pie guy!” Tina said. “Has he gotten in touch with them yet?”

“I know he sent his resume and stuff,” Jack said. “I don’t know if he’s heard anything back yet.”

“And I bet you’d know if he had,” Tina said. “Don’t worry -- Jacqui sounded really interested, especially when I told her about his vlog. I think they want to try some video segments of their own. I would have lobbied to have him here -- could you imagine him giving social media lessons to the rest of the guys? -- but …”

Her voice trailed off.

“But?” Jack said.

“It’s probably not a good idea, given how close you two are.” Tina shrugged. “People could cry favoritism.”

Jack was confused. He was pretty sure George had shared the nature of his relationship with Bitty with the PR team -- they would have to clean things up if it became a public mess -- but what favoritism? Did the rest of the team have significant others itching to get their thumbs on the Falconers’ Twitter account?

“Every time we would highlight you, that would draw attention to the fact that a good friend of yours was in this office,” Tina said. “And you’re the face of the franchise, so we highlight you a lot. Whether or not you like it. Anyway, it’s probably good for him to have a separate work life, y’know?”

“It’s just an internship,” Jack said. “Besides, we used to live together and play together and study together.”

“Internships can be extended auditions for real jobs,” Tina said. “And college is different. Besides, Jacqui will be a good mentor. Even if Hasbro doesn’t need someone when he graduates, she’ll make sure every good PR shop in town knows about Eric.”

“OK,” Jack said. “I really didn’t mean to complain. I wanted to say thanks, and I’m sure Bittle will have a pie for you next time he’s around.”

“I can’t wait,” Tina said. “Actually, I’ll see if he wants to get together for coffee, or maybe lunch. I’ve been trying some of the recipes he did on YouTube, and I want to pick his brain a little.”

“Maybe if comes for a game you could get together before?” Jack said, not wanting to give up any of his own precious Bitty-time. “If he takes the train, he usually gets in mid- to late-afternoon and has a few hours to kill while I’m getting ready. If you want to know something about baking, I’ll make sure he knows he can use the kitchen at my place. He’s kind of a hands-on teacher.”

“I bet,” Tina said. “Enough about Eric. The posts rooting for Samwell were good. What do you have planned for this week?”

“I took this shot of my skates,” Jack said. “I like lighting, and the way they’re kind of beat up, but still usable. It’s kind of the way I feel -- the way most of us feel at this time of year. Like we’ve been through it, but we’re not ready to give up yet.”

“Dang,” Tina said. “Why don’t all of you guys come with a college education? Makes my job easier.”

Jack grinned. “My friend Lardo’s an artist. She helped a lot when I started to get into photography, especially when it came to understanding what my pictures were trying to say.”

Jack went home and pulled one of the PBJ’s Bitty had made last time he was in Providence out of the freezer and left it to defrost on the counter while he napped. He checked his phone again -- nothing from Bitty. But he shouldn’t be surprised. Bitty had class Tuesday afternoons. And Wednesday mornings, which meant he wouldn’t be around for the game tonight. It was fine. Jack had seen him Sunday, after all, watched him bake for hours, held his cup while he danced at the kegster with his teammates, even slept in his narrow bed before slipping out before breakfast to make the drive back down to Providence. But he wanted to know, for sure, that Bitty would be here for the summer. Last year, Jack had been so lonely when he moved in by himself after graduation. This year, once he hit the offseason -- he hoped not until June -- he wanted Bitty there to keep him company.

Jack lay down on his bed, thinking about how different a summer with Bitty would be. Sure, Bitty would have to work 20 hours a week at his internship, and he was pretty sure he’d try for another side job, but there was no way he’d be as busy as last year. And even when he had busy days, he’d come home to Jack every night. Not much would change: There were already Bitty clothes in the dresser and Bitty toiletries in the bathroom. There was a Bitty toothbrush in the holder next to Jack’s and Bitty books on the shelves.

Jack dozed off thinking about having Bitty there all summer. When he woke to his phone’s alarm, there were three texts from Bitty, as though Jack had conjured them from his dreams.

_I heard from the PR person at Hasbro! She wants to interview me in person!_

_Oh my Lord I have to scrub my Twitter feed!_

_Can I come on Thursday night and stay with you? I have a meeting at Hasbro at 10 a.m. Friday._

Jack went to the bathroom, came back and texted, 

_Of course! You know you can come here whenever. I have a game Thursday night but you can let yourself in if I’m not here._

After wandering into the kitchen to pack his sandwich and pull his bag together, he remembered Tina.

_Tina was asking about getting together when you’re in. Maybe let her know? And I can get you a ticket for the game._

Eric replied, _Thanks! I was gonna tell her about the interview anyway. Maybe she can give me some tips to impress Jacqui!_

_I’m sure she’d be happy to, but I doubt you need any help, Bud. I love you and I miss you,_ Jack answered.

_I love you and I miss you too. Good luck tonight!_

The way things were going, Jack felt like he couldn’t lose. He ended up with his first hat trick in a 6-2 win over the Blue Jackets.

His phone was full of notifications with pictures of hats from the SMH group chat, and plenty of individual texts. There was a text from Eric saying, _Congratulations! I’m sure your team is taking you out to celebrate!_

Then there was another text, this one one a video of Eric in Jack’s Falconers sweater (and nothing else? Hard to tell), pulling his Falconers snap-back off his head and tossing it at the camera with a silly grin. 

Then it said, _Can’t wait to do this in person Mr. Zimmermann!_

“Zimmboni! What you’re smiling at?” Tater jostled him as he walked by. “B send you something?”

Jack locked his screen and stuffed the phone is his pocket.

“Uh, yeah,” Jack said. “He said congratulations, and he’s coming Thursday.”

“Great!” Tater said. “He brings pie?”

“I don’t know, Tater,” Jack said. “I won’t see him before the game. But if he brings something, I’ll bring it along on the roadie Friday, OK?”

“Good deal,” Tater said. “Now we get this show on the road?”

***********************************

March 31, Bitty

“So some people like to use vodka because they say it makes the crust more pliable,” Eric was explaining to Tina as he rolled out a crust. “I think it probably helps because it stays liquid at temperatures that are below freezing for water, so you can take it right out of the freezer … but my parents never had vodka, and I still can’t buy it, so I use good old fashioned ice water.”

He rolled the crust around his rolling pin to transfer it to the waiting pie plate, then started another crust.

“Can you grab the filling off the stove? Like I said, fruit, just a bit of sugar, then some flavoring if you want. I like citrus with blueberries, almond extract with cherries, and Jack’s fond of maple with apple. But you can experiment and see what you like. If fruit’s out-of-season, the frozen berries work OK, but nothing’s better than fresh-picked.”

He laid the second crust into the other plate, then spooned filling into both, before rolling top crusts.

“Normally, I’d weave lattices, but we have to get to the game, so I’ll just do some cut-outs. We can talk while these bake, and you can take one with you. It’ll be ready to eat after the game, but it’ll be really good tomorrow, too.”

Eric slid the pies into the oven, carefully positioned above foil-lined baking sheets, and set the timer, then slid onto a stool next to Tina.

“So, thanks for recommending me,” he said. “Anything I should know ahead of time about Jacqui? Does she have any food allergies?”

“Eric Bittle, you are not going to bribe your way into an internship with pie,” Tina said. 

Eric made a non-committal sound.

“I was thinking muffins,” he said. “I still have some of those blueberries.”

“Uh, as much as I think Jacqui would like it, maybe save them for a thank-you after you get the job?” Tina said. “Which you totally will. Jacqui’s a really good PR director, Eric, and she knows Hasbro needs to up its social media game, but being a hospital -- a children’s hospital at that -- there are all sorts of privacy issues.”

“So you figured who can be all over Twitter but still not spill the beans?” Eric snorted.

“It’s not lost on me that you know where every spice and every dish is in Jack’s kitchen,” Tina said. “Not to mention that Jack even has pie plates and spices in his kitchen. But I wouldn’t know that from your Twitter feed. And just so you know, Jacqui doesn’t know it from me. I just told her I met you because we called on you, as Jack’s former teammate, to help him get comfortable with social media.”

“And I’m spending the summer in Providence because ….”

“There are more internship opportunities here than in the small town in Georgia where you grew up.”

“That works,” Eric said. “Honestly, I think Jack would be happy to have any of the team bunk in if they needed to.”

“Uh-huh,” Tina said. “Maybe one of them can use the guest room.”

Eric blushed.

“Hush, you,” he said.

“Seriously,” Tina said. “If you want to tell Jacqui, it would be fine. No one can keep a secret like someone in corporate communications.”

“Maybe after I get the job,” Eric said.

“That’s the spirit,” Tina said. “Want me to run you through a mock interview?”

“Sure,” Eric said. “Can I record it? Then I can see what I look like and what I need to adjust.”

“Perfect,” Tina said. “You are going to be so good for this job.”

After the game, Eric rode home with Jack, revelling in the way he could wait for his boyfriend by the locker room without anyone making a fuss.

It was another Falconers win -- at this rate, they’d not only hang on to their playoff position, but head into the post-season on a roll -- and Jack had two assists.

“So are you going to take everything but the sweater off and throw my hat at me?” Jack chirped.

“Didn’t get a hat trick tonight, did you?” Eric returned.

“But you still owe me a hat from Tuesday,” Jack said. 

“Owe you? How many hats did they pull off the ice?”

Jack shrugged. “A thousand or so, I think. It was hat night. They gave most of them back at the exits. They saved the ones that weren’t giveaways for shelters in town.”

“You got a couple to keep, right?” Eric asked.

“A couple,” Jack said. “But I was hoping for one more.”

When they got home (and yes, Eric told himself, he could call it home), Eric stopped before going into the bedroom to show Jack the mock interview he’d done with Tina on his laptop. Jack watched while he ate his post-game snack. 

Eric pointed out places where he thought he hesitated too much, or where he could have come up with a better answer. Jack ate, and nodded along, and when he was done, gently closed the laptop before Eric could start it again.

“You seem nervous,” he said. “But you’ll do fine.”

“But what if --” 

“She already wants to like you,” Jack said. “And you’re pretty great, so why shouldn’t she?”

“That’s what I keep telling myself,” Eric said. “But this is for us, Jack. I need this job to spend the summer here.”

“You’re sure about that?” Jack said. “I can spot you until you find something if this doesn’t work out.”

“No, Jack, I need a job to stay,” Eric said.

“OK, whatever you say,” Jack said. “But you need to relax. Come to bed.”

*************************************************

April 1, Jack

Jack turned his phone on as he stepped into the charter terminal at Midway Airport to find a text from Bitty.

_I got the internship!_

Another text:

_Well, almost definitely. There’s still paperwork and stuff. But they want me!_

Another text:

_I gotta call Mama and Coach! And Karla, too. Maybe she can hire Janelle!_

Jack texted back before he got on the bus.

_Great! I knew they’d love you. Skype when I get to the hotel?_

Once the team had checked in and Jack had shed his travelling suit, Jack opened his laptop to see that Bitty was already logged in.

He connected the call to find Bitty surrounded by baked goods in the kitchen in Providence.

“Stress baking? After you got the job?” Jack asked.

“Making a thank-you basket,” Eric said. “And making enough to leave for you to take to the team when you get back.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“And some to take back to the Haus. They’ve been on their own since yesterday.”

“They’ll survive,” Jack said. “Wait -- are you going back today?”

“There’s a train at 5:30,” Eric said. “Everyone’s there, and well, you’re not here. It’ll be more fun to watch the game with them tomorrow than to sit here by myself. Plus, I have work to do that will be easier at the library.”

As much as Jack enjoyed the image of Bitty in his -- in _their_ condo, he had to admit it made sense. But if Eric left on the train at 5:30, he couldn’t hope to be back at Samwell before 9.

“Just take the car, Bits,” he said. “Can you come pick me up at T.F. Green Sunday? It should be around 11. If not, I’ll get a ride and you can bring the car back whenever. But I hate to think of you on the train to Boston and then the bus to Samwell when the car’s just sitting there.”

“Uh, OK.” Eric said. “You’re sure? I think I can come back to pick you up Sunday.”

“Of course I’m sure,” Jack said. “It’s fine. Take it to get groceries while you’re there.”

“Well, OK,” Eric said. “Thanks, Jack.”

“Tell me about the job,” Jack said.

“It’s great,” Bitty said. “Some internal communications, working on their social media accounts. They want me to work on something with the patients, too. Help them make video journals. The one that want to can share on their CarePages. I mean, it’s almost weird how perfect it is -- my vlog fits, and even working skating camp fits. And we get to be together.”

“I can’t wait,” Jack said.

“I should pack these up and get going,” Bitty said. “Talk tomorrow after the game?”

“Absolutely,” Jack said. “I love you and I miss you.”

“I love you and I miss you too,” Bitty said. 

 

 

 

 


	2. April 8-14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's season ends and the playoffs start. Bitty is sad that more of his SMH family is going to graduate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to get a tiny bit angsty, but it didn't, really. So have more fluff. Some discussion of anxiety.

April 8, Jack

Jack stripped off his tie and hung his jacket in the closet. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling the late-afternoon stubble, and contemplated his evening. With their late season surge, the Falconers were guaranteed second place in their division, and tomorrow’s game wouldn’t change that. 

He could call Maman and she would meet him for dinner on her own, or with Papa if he asked. They had plans already for tomorrow; Jack had the night off and would spend it with his parents before rejoining the team to start playoff preparations Sunday.

Maybe he could just see Maman tonight. Papa, the night before the Habs … he knew Papa would be rooting for him tomorrow, but it was strange playing against the team that made his father a local hero. But to ask to see Maman and not Papa would be strange, too. And he could go out with the guys tonight, introduce Tater to Fairmount bagels maybe. Maybe poutine -- although he was pretty sure Tater had been in Canada enough times to be familiar with that particular potato-based dish.

He decided to call his mother and let her know he’d arrived, nail down plans for after the game tomorrow, and see where it went.

“Jack! You’re in Montreal already?”

“I am, Maman. You and Papa are still coming to the game tomorrow?”

“We wouldn’t miss it, mon coeur. You’ll come home with us afterwards?”

“ _Ouais,_ I can’t wait.”

“What are you doing tonight?”

“ _J’sais pas,_ ” Jack said. “Maybe dinner with Marty and Guy? Or Tater?”

“Your father has a dinner thing tonight, but maybe I could meet you for a drink later? Coffee? Decaf, probably,” his mother said. “It’s always good to get you to myself.”

Jack tried not to let his sigh of relief become audible as he felt the tension leave his shoulders. An hour with his mother would mean chatter about family friends and relatives: who was having a grandchild, who got a new pool, which charities his parents wanted to support. And nothing about hockey.

Normally, he loved talking about hockey, watching hockey, analyzing plays and players to learn their strengths and weaknesses so he could exploit them during games. And Maman knew hockey -- no doubt about that -- but when it was just the two of them, they talked about anything and everything else, and he was reminded that there was a world beyond the rink.

Tonight, though, his mother had an agenda.

“So, Eric got the internship?” she said, as soon as she slid into the seat across the table from him. “He’ll be in Providence all summer?”

It was an agenda that Jack was more than happy to follow.

He smiled, looked into his cup of herbal tea, looked up and said, “Yes. Well, mostly. He’s going to Georgia the week before Memorial Day, before the internship starts, and I think we’re both going for Fourth of July.”

“Look at you, making plans together,” she said. 

She was teasing, he knew, and it was light and pleasant. Because if he had his way, they’d be making plans far beyond three months from now.

“He’s nervous about the job,” Jack said. “I don’t know why. Tina said Jacqui loved him. He’s even asked what he should wear -- and I’ve never seen him underdressed. He wore a bow tie to graduation, and it wasn’t even his graduation.”

“He was cute,” Alicia said. “And you’re right -- he has a good sense of style. He’s probably fine for an internship; as long as he manages shirts with collars and shoes that aren’t sneakers, no one will look twice, and I know he can do that with what he has. But maybe he’d let me buy him a present or two? And reassure him about his wardrobe choices? When is he moving in?”

“May 17,” Jack said. “It’s the day after graduation this year. He’ll be around for a few days, then head to Georgia for a few days. But I don’t know how much I’ll see him, because, well, you know.”

“So he’s not staying in Providence for the playoffs?”

Jack shrugged.

“He’ll be around for most of the playoffs,” he said. “I told him to go ahead to see his parents. He can’t put his life on hold for two months for me. And we might not --.”

“Jack, _non. Dis pas ça,_ ” Alicia said.

“Are you as superstitious as Papa now?” Jack said. 

“Not really,” she said. “But no need to talk yourself out of success. That’s not the point, though. How did Eric feel about you telling him to make plans to go to Georgia?”

“He wanted to wait and see what happened,” Jack said.

“Maybe you should let him,” Alicia said. “There’s a lot of pressure on you in the playoffs. You don’t need me to tell you that. I’m sure Eric wants to be there to support you.”

“But that’s not his job,” Jack said. “I can’t expect that from him. And I know his parents want to see him, too. Besides, it’s not like it’s up to me to let him stay -- I told him the condo is his home too. I’m not telling him he has to go.”

His mother looked at him a moment before responding.

“As long he understands -- really understands -- that,” she said. “Make sure he’s not just doing what he thinks you want because it’s your name on the mailbox, and he can’t intrude if he thinks he’s not wanted.”

********************************************

April 9, Bitty

By the time Bitty carried a big bowl of popcorn into the Haus living room and flopped into the armchair, he was ready to disconnect and just watch Jack’s game.

It had been a long day -- a long week -- a long month already. The frogs had spent the week plastering the campus with fliers advertising the team manager job, which just rubbed in the fact that Lardo would be moving on in a matter of about a month. Lardo, for her part, seemed stressed about her plans after Samwell, and no matter how many snickerdoodles Bitty baked, she withdrew further and further into her hoodies.

Bitty wasn’t sure exactly what the problem was, but he had his suspicions. She acceptances in art programs in California, Boston and New York, but money was an issue. She would have to get a job -- at least one job -- to stay afloat. Unless she stayed in Boston, where Shitty said she could move in with him. But Eric was pretty sure she wanted to give New York a go, and she’d always been fiercely independent, but turning down Shitty’s offer could seem like a rejection of him, and what kind of idiot turned down free room and board for grad school? But what if the thing they had -- never defined, at least publicly, came to an end? Not that Lardo had said any of that. She just sat next to Bitty in the reading room and drew increasingly confusing sketches.

Ransom and Holster had been snappish with each other, too, for reasons that Bitty couldn’t quite fathom. Holster was angry that Ransom was thinking of taking a consultant job in Boston? Which was what Holster was doing himself? Apparently, Holster thought Ransom should set his sights higher, on medical school or at least grad school in a science program. At least Holster backed down when Ransom explained he just needed to take some time and make some money. As welcoming as the team had been, Bitty thought, it had more that its share of people who had never had to consider money when they made their plans, and sometimes forgot other people did (see Lardo and Shitty). Never mind that Bitty would have worried about Ransom in med school; if exams at Samwell could send him into coral-reef mode, what would he be like when someone’s life depended on him knowing the answer? He’d know the answer, of course. But he’d worry himself to death making sure.

Now they were planning to move in together and continue the partnership that, as far as Bitty knew, started the day they laid eyes on each other.

That wasn’t the only thing coming together.

The team had its new manager, pending approval by Hall and Murray. Bitty wasn’t worried -- if Lardo said Ford was it, the coaches wouldn’t argue. They’d functioned the last two years by focusing on the hockey and letting Lardo worry about everything else.

Bitty liked Ford, he really did. She was bright and funny and loved musical theater and had a voice that made people sit up and take notice. But she wasn’t Lardo, whose mere presence kept the boys in line.

Well, he supposed he wasn’t like whoever the winger was that would have been considered his immediate predecessor. Change was healthy. If only it didn’t have to be so painful.

It didn’t take long after the puck dropped for the boys to realize that the Falconers weren’t exactly putting their hearts -- or their legs -- into it.

The Habs were up by two at the end of the first period, and Ransom and Holster changed the channel to turn on the Frozen Four final. Boston College was out -- they’d lost to Quinnipiac on Thursday -- and the group was united in rooting for North Dakota, if only because it wasn’t a conference rival. 

Eric fetched his laptop and settled in to work on his paper about the effects of rationing on cooking in the aftermath of World War II, then prompted Holster to change the TV back to the Falcs game. Jack would likely call when the game was over, and he’d like enough notice to get to his room.

Not that he'd need privacy, really. Jack was staying with his parents, so the call would probably be from the dressing room before he met up with them. But no need to risk fines for the stray pet names that might escape his mouth.

The Falcs ended up losing 5-2, with Jack poking in a meaningless goal with three minutes left.

Bitty picked up his laptop and his notebook and headed for the stairs. 

“Aren't you going to stay and watch the end of the Quinnipiac game?” Ransom asked.

“I don't --” he started when Holster jumped in, “I bet he's off to talk to his lover boy.”

The tone was affectionate, but Bitty was annoyed anyway, and became more so when Dex called from the kitchen, “Fine!”

“Oh, come on,” Bitty called back. “I didn't even say it. If you want to fine someone, fine Holster. But we already got the new dryer!”

“Of course I should fine Holster, Bits!” Dex stuck his head out the door a flashed him a grin. “But you're not giving away dibs this year.”

Bitty had just opened his laptop on his desk -- to the paper, not YouTube, he would insist to his dying day -- when his phone buzzed with Jack’s call.

“Nice goal,” he said. “You have the best hands. I should know.”

Bitty could almost hear the blush rise in Jack’s face over the phone. “Bits, I'm still in the dressing room!”

“I know,” Bitty was saying. 

He could hear Tater’s booming voice from Jack’s end of the call.

“Is that B? Tell him thanks for the pie! Is he coming Wednesday night? He brings pie?”

“I was trying to ask him, Tater,” Jack said. Then back into the phone, “What do you think? Can you come down on Wednesday for Game 1? I think Shitty will be there too.”

“Miss my boyfriend’s first ever NHL playoff game? No way,” Eric said. “I can miss my history class that morning as long as I get this paper turned in.”

“No, go to class,” Jack said. “It’s over at noon, right? I can ask Shitty to drive you up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bitty said. “I’ll call him. Is he staying over with you too?”

“Uh, no,” Jack said. “He has class the next morning. He could drive you back that night, I guess, if you don't want to take the train in the morning?”

“Hush, you,” Bitty said. “Like I'm going to give up the chance to stay with you? I'll get myself back, even if I have to wake up at the same ungodly hour as you to do it.”

“I can drop you at the train station at least,” Jack said. “I could get you an Uber all the way back, if it comes to that.”

“All that time in the car alone with a stranger? Nope,” Bitty said. “I'd rather take the train. You seeing your folks now?”

“Yeah, I should get going,” Jack said. “They’ll be waiting.”

“Say hello for me,” Bitty said. “And give them my apologies for keeping you. I love you and I miss you.”

“I love you and I miss you too,” Jack said.

*************************************************

April 10, Jack

“How are you feeling?” Jack’s father sat across from him a the breakfast table, fixing him with a level look. “Nervous?’

Jack sipped his orange juice and said, “Not really. It’s just hockey, right?”

His father just looked at him, until Jack gave a strained smile.

“Fine, yes, I’m nervous,” he said. “We’ve just played 82 games, and now we get to start to really play. But to get there will take another two months, if we get that lucky. And the team took a chance on signing me at all, let alone giving me the A, and I feel like we need to make a deep run even if we don’t win to justify those moves.”

He rolled his eyes. “And I actually have talked about all this with my therapist, who suggests that I focus on what I can control, which is playing hockey.”

His father sighed.

“Of course she’s right,” he said. “And I didn’t mean to make you more keyed up. I think every player gets butterflies before the playoffs -- and not just the first time, either.”

“And now you’re reminding how many times you went to the playoffs, and how much I have to live up to,” Jack said. “If we actually win and I get to lift the cup, are you going to tell me it’s different when you win for the fourth time?”

Jack was still smiling when he said it, but it felt forced. He knew his father wasn’t trying to rub in his success, or set the bar higher for Jack. He was trying to share an experience, to draw on something they had in common, and all Jack could do was push him away.

“Who says you won’t win it four times?” Bob asked him. “Or not. Winning a cup is a lot of hard work, and a lot of luck. There are plenty of great players who never won it at all.”

“I know, I know,” Jack said. “It's just … after everything, all the therapy, everything you and Maman did, having Bitty -- I feel like I should be better. Like I should be happy. I mean, I am happy. But sometimes I'm too anxious to pay attention to what I have already, you know? And I feel like if I can just do something more -- make the playoffs, win a cup -- it will be better. And then I get so focused on that that I forget the good things I have. So I need to remember this is just hockey.”

His father nodded.

“You’re right, of course,” he said. “And I’m more proud of you for understanding that and taking care of yourself than I could ever be for anything you do with hockey, and that includes winning a cup. Or four.”

**********************************************

April 13, Bitty

Shitty was waiting at the Haus when Bitty got home from his history class, so Bitty threw together some sandwiches and a salad for lunch for both of them, then started packing the baked goods that were going to Providence. Three pies for the nook, a pie to take to Jack’s condo before the game, a tin of cookies to leave with Jack and a box of mini-pies for the family section tonight.

Bitty and Shitty wouldn’t be seated there, of course. Too many cameras would be focused on the family boxes during the game, and “Jack’s old college roommate” would only work as an excuse for his presence so many times. Better to be seated in the arena, a different section every time. There had been discussion about telling the Falconers’ home broadcast team about Bitty and Jack -- at least the producers -- so the camera operators could avoid him, but the team decided that it would be too much of a risk that someone would say something -- maybe not maliciously, maybe just in the course of doing their job -- and a reporter or broadcaster for the national networks would overhear. So Bitty relied on blending in with the crowd in whatever section he was seated in.

But Jack always asked for the best seats still available, usually season tickets that someone was trying to sell because they couldn’t make the game, so Bitty was used to finding himself just a few rows off the glass.

Today the team had outdone itself, with seats five rows back behind the Falconers’ bench.

“Whoa, bro, primo seats,” Shitty said. 

“Yeah, these are even better than Jack usually gets me,” Bitty said. “I wonder who gave up seats like these for a playoff game?”

“I don’t know, but I’m grateful,” Shitty said. “Lemme get you a brewski. I think I owe you one for these seats.”

“No, you can’t, Shitty,” Bitty said. 

“Sure I can,” Shitty said. “They’ll sell me two at a time from the concession stand.”

“No, I mean you can’t because I’m underage,” Bitty said.

“For what, another three weeks?” Shitty scoffed.

“But if someone does recognize me, and it gets back that Jack got us the seats … it wouldn’t be good for Jack.”

“OK. I get it,” Shitty said. “I can at least buy you a Coke and some nachos, right?”

“Sure thing,” Bitty said.

He wasn’t sure how many of the nachos he actually ate -- he was on the edge of his seat almost the whole game -- although the jumbo cup (with Jack’s face on it) of Coke was empty by the end. Shitty had finished his beer and then switched to water, but yelled himself hoarse.

The Falconers scored in the first period -- Jack had an assist on Fitzgerald’s goal -- but the Red Wings scored twice within two minutes early in the second to take the lead.

Jack (“You beautiful hunk of Canadian hockey player!” Shitty yelled) scored to tie it just before the end of the period, and then it looked like Marty netted one early in the third to take the lead, but it was called back after a video review because Poots was offside on the entry.

The Falcs held on, though, and Tater blasted one past Howard from past the dot with six minutes left and managed to keep the lead.

“What now, Bits?” Shitty asked. “You want me to take you back to Jack’s? I can wait there with you to see our boy.”

That was too long for Bitty to wait.

“No,” he said. “We can see him when gets out of the dressing room, but it might be a little bit because he probably has to to do press. Come with me.”

Bitty led Shitty to a small room off a corridor that led to the dressing room. A few other family members waiting for their players were on couches and chairs, and a TV mounted on the wall played Falcs TV. The coaches came on after a few minutes, then gave way to Jack, Fitzgerald and Tater, in UnderArmour and Falconers caps.

Bitty listened with half an ear as Jack answered questions about the game (“How did the team respond when Sebastien St. Martin’s goal was called off?” “We just tried to keep at it, keep playing our game, and in the end it worked out.”). The rest of him was making introductions, or trying to avoid them.

“This is a good friend of Jack’s and mine from Samwell,” he said. “He graduated last year with Jack and played all four years with him. This is Gabby St. Martin.”

Shitty held out a hand and said, “Shitty Knight. Pleased to meet you.”

Gabby’s eyebrows were up but she giggled as she said, “Shitty? Really?”

“It’s a nickname, but I don’t even know what his real first name is,” Eric said. “My mother calls him Mr. Crappy, if you’re looking for an alternative.”

“Shitty it is then,” Gabby said. “Are you as much a fan of Eric’s food as everyone around here?”

“More,” Shitty said. “He was just a frog -- uh, a freshman -- when I discovered his pie magic.”

“Well, we get to keep him all summer,” Gabby said. “I know our kids are excited. So are the Robinsons.”

“Anytime you need help with them, just let me know,” Bitty said. 

“Looks like they’re done with press,” Carrie Robinson said.

“We can go wait in the hallway,” Bitty said to Shitty, as the group moved into the corridor.

He turned back to Carrie and Gabby. “I’m going to have to work, of course, but otherwise I’m happy to babysit.”

“Don’t go promising all your time,” Jack’s voice came from behind Eric. “You need some time to rest, too.”

“OK, that was just too easy,” Shitty said. “We all know you want Bitty to yourself as much as possible.”

Bitty felt the color rise in his face as Gabby and Carrie laughed. “Oh, for the off-seasons of our child-free youth,” Gabby said.

“But hopefully not for a good long time,” Carrie added.

“Great game,” Shitty told Jack. “You’re a man made for hockey. That goal was filthy.”

“Thanks, Shits,” Jack said. “Thanks for coming. You headed back right away?”

“Unfortunately,” Shitty said. “I have an 8:30 study group. But thanks for the primo seats. What kind of season ticket holder doesn’t turn up for the first game of the playoffs?”

“Uh, the owner? Who spent the game in his box tonight?” Jack said. “George offered the seats, I didn’t even have to pay for them.”

“Even better. Give me a call if Bits here needs a chaperone again,” Shitty said. He opened his arms. “Bring it in, bro.”

Jack and Bitty both hugged him. “See you soon, Shitty,” Bitty said.

“We’ll walk out with you,” Jack said, taking Bitty’s hand and holding it until they emerged into the parking lot. They waved to Shitty and Bitty leaned up to speak to Jack.

“Take me home,” he said.

*****************************************

April 14, Jack

“Bitty -- Eric,” Jack whispered.

Bitty curled more tightly into Jack’s side, and Jack tightened his arms around him and nuzzled into his hair more deeply.

Jack pulled away a little bit and said, “Eric, it’s time to wake up.”

Bitty grumbled and rubbed his face against Jack’s shoulder. “Gonna have to do better than that,” he said,

“Really?” Jack said. “Is that a challenge?” 

“Mmmm,” Bitty said sleepily. “I know you love a challenge.”

“I love you,” Jack said. “How about I return the favor from last night?”

“No objections here,” Bitty said.

So Jack pushed Bitty onto his back and swung his leg over so he was straddling Bitty. He kissed Bitty briefly on the mouth, mindful that they both had morning breath, then worked his way quickly down Bitty’s jaw and neck, stopping to worry a bit at his collarbone, leaving a small mark that would be covered by a T-shirt or polo.

Then he moved down to suckle for a few second at each nipple, playing with the peaks with his fingers while his mouth traveled down Bitty’s abdomen. By the time he started licking at the tip of Bitty’s cock, Bitty’s hips were shifting and Bitty was making small noises. Jack reached up and found Bitty’s hands, and he brought them to rest on his head, Bitty’s fingers in his hair.

Bitty’s whimpers turned to groans as Jack started moving his head and sucking in earnest, and after that it didn’t take long.

Jack licked Bitty clean then pulled himself back up the bed, kissing Bitty deeply without worrying that they hadn’t brushed their teeth.

Bitty was beyond caring as well, going by the way he kissed back. He reached for Jack’s erection at the same time, gripping it snugly and stroking with a rapid rhythm that would bring Jack off quickly.

When they were finished, Bitty flopped back on the pillows and said, “I’m awake.”

“I do love to meet a challenge,” Jack said.

“Hush,” Bitty said. “What time is it? My train leaves at 8:25.”

Jack rolled over and picked up his phone.

“7:20. Time for a shower and breakfast. I’ll get you a rideshare to the station.”

He watched as Bitty rolled to the edge of the bed and stood, then walked into the bathroom without bothering to put anything on. Bitty liked to tease Jack about his body -- the phrase “glorious hockey ass” made frequent appearances -- but Jack thought Bitty was more beautiful than any human being he had ever seen. He was perfect, all lean lines and taut muscle, pink and gold and radiant in the morning sun.

When Jack heard the shower running, he got up, tugged on his boxers and went to the kitchen to start the coffee.

Eric appeared a few minutes later, dressed but with wet hair still. 

“Go shower,” he said. “I got this. Egg whites and veggies?”

“Sounds good,” Jack said. “Maybe toast some of that bread you brought?”

“Will do,” Eric said, assuming control of the kitchen like a ship’s captain taking over the bridge.

When Jack returned, there were two plates and two mugs on the kitchen island. Jack sat down and opened his phone to order a ride for Bitty.

Soon enough, Bitty was picking up his satchel.

“See you tomorrow night?” he said. “I was thinking of seeing if Lardo could come with me, but she might stay over. She doesn’t have a car, and she shouldn’t be on the train that late.”

“No, of course not,” Jack said. “I’ll need to fly out to Detroit on Saturday, but you’re welcome to stay the weekend. Lardo too, if she wants.”

“Not this weekend,” Bitty said. “It’s the banquet, remember? Lardo’s last official function as manager.”

“ _Merde,_ I forgot,” Jack said. “Call me after and let me know how it went.”

“Jack, you have a game that night,” Eric said. 

“I know. Call me anyway.”

“I’ll text you,” Eric said. “That way you can get back to me whenever.”

“Fine,” Jack said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though?”

“Count on it,” Bitty said.


	3. April 15-19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Playoffs for Jack, hockey banquet for Bitty, Lardo's plans, SMH team bonding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I tried to get a little angsty ... just a little ... and it kind of turned back into fluff?  
> Sorry not sorry.  
> I am sorry for all the mistakes in the last chapter, and grateful for everyone who pointed them out so I could fix them. This is still not beta'd, y'all, and more than happy for the help.

April 15, Bitty

“Good Christ on a cracker,” Bitty said. “When is this train gonna move again?”

“It’ll move soon,” Lardo said. “We’ve got plenty of time. Don’t worry.”

“But what if we don’t?” Bitty said. “I knew I should have gotten everything packed earlier. I didn’t have to go to Faber before class today.”

“No, Bits,” Lardo said. “You just found out last night that you could get the ice. How long has it been since you got to figure skate? You seemed so much more relaxed after you got back, dude.”

“It did help,” Bitty said. “But if I had taken that time to get ready, then we could have made the earlier train.”

“But this train gives us plenty of time,” Lardo said. “It’s supposed to get in at 5:37, and the game’s not until 8. We’re only, what, eight minutes behind schedule? We’ll be fine.”

“But we’re not moving!” Bitty said. “Why did I have to bring so many pies and so much other stuff? We’re going back tomorrow. The team’s leaving tomorrow. They don’t need all this. Nate will kill me anyway.”

“But the St. Martins and the Robinsons and all the other families will appreciate them, right?” Lardo said. “Look, is there someone with the team you can leave this stuff with when we get to the arena? We can grab a ride from the station and go right there.”

“I guess,” Bitty said. “Tina’s probably there. She’ll know who I can give them to.”

He pulled his phone out and started scrolling through his contacts.

The train was just bumping forward when he pocketed his phone. “OK,” he said. “She’ll meet us at the main gate. I just have to give her a few minutes’ notice.”

“See? Relax,” Lardo said. “We got your back.”

“You and Tina?” Bitty said. “Lord preserve us.”

“Your friends, Bitty,” Lardo said. “All of us. We got your back.”

“Aww. I got your back, too,” Bitty said. “Any time you want to talk, or not talk, I’m here for you.”

The train picked up speed for a few moments before she spoke.

“Thanks, bro,” she said. “You’re the best, y’know? It’s just this future stuff. It’s not easy. It’s like there’s too many things I want, and they all come with things I don’t want, and I don’t know how to make it all work.”

“I guess you just have to think about what you want most, and what scares you about that,” Bitty said. “Then decide what to do about it. When I was graduating high school, and I had the chance to come to Samwell, I was scared out of my wits, to be that far from my family and everything I knew. But I guess I was more scared of what would happen to me if I stayed.”

“That bad?” Lardo asked.

“Not like that,” Bitty said. “Well, maybe a little. But what I meant was that I would never have been able to be myself the way I have been. And look how it worked out. I still have Mama and Coach in my corner, and I have a whole new family.”

“And a pretty awesome boyfriend, right?”

“Well, yes, that too.” 

“I’m glad for you, Bits, for you and Jack, too,” Lardo said. “It’s like you got your happily ever after, and both of you deserve it more than anyone. But sometimes it’s not that easy.”

Bitty wanted to say it wasn’t that easy -- not with Jack in Providence and him in Samwell, still not sure what he wanted to be when he grew up. Not when he got into this with his family not evening knowing that he was gay, or not being able to tell his friends, not when he couldn’t be there all the time for Jack the way he should be.

But a lot of those problems had already been solved, and he was pretty sure that Jack was it for him. Not having his heart set on a career path might actually help; he could find something he liked, something he was good at, in Providence, as long as Jack was there. If Jack got traded, well, they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

So instead what he said was, “Want to tell me about it?”

“Bits, I got into Parsons,” Lardo said. “That’s kind of like Harvard Law, but for art. And it’s in New York.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Bitty said. 

“It’s in New York, as in a four-hour bus trip from Boston,” she said. “And they offered me a partial scholarship, but nowhere near enough to cover room and board. I could stay in Boston, with Shitty, and have most of my tuition and living expenses covered. But it’s Parsons. And taking it feels like I’m walking away from Shitty, and if I do that, I don’t know if I can come back. We’re not like you and Jack, not a fairytale couple that will always end up together no matter what.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Bitty said. “But what I hear is you saying that you want to go to Parsons in New York, but it’ll cost a lot and you’re afraid you and Shitty won’t make it if you don’t stay with him, and you don’t want to lose him.”

“Yeah, more or less.”

“So first, can you do it? With how much it’ll cost and all?”

“I think so,” Lardo said. “I’ll have to take out some loans, but not too much, especially if I can find a job. Too bad there’s not a hockey team to manage.”

“Then I think you have to go,” Bitty said. “I think you should talk to Shitty about it, and tell him what you told me. I know he’s overbearing sometimes -- I’ve heard him mansplain LGBT rights to me, and feminism to the whole volleyball team -- but he wants to do the right thing. And I know he really cares for you.”

Bitty wanted to say, “He’s so in love with you he’d shave his mustache off if you asked,” but it wasn’t his place to tell her that. But maybe Jack could say something to Shitty. It would probably go over better coming from Jack, if it came to it.

“I know, Bits,” Lardo said. “Really, I do. But we only just got together last fall after dancing around it so long. But you’re right. Once we get through the banquet maybe.”

They made it to the Dunkin Donuts Center 45 minutes before gametime and were able to pass off both the cooler bag of baked goods and their overnight bags to Tina, who promised to see they got to the family lounge after the game.

The Red Wings stayed with the Falconers for the first two periods, entering the third in a 2-2 tie, but the Falconers broke through for three goals in the last period, coming away with 5-2 win and a 2-0 series lead. Jack played well once again, with a goal and assist, and Bitty couldn’t have been more thrilled.

After the game, they went back to Jack’s condo and talked about the game while Jack ate. Then Bitty insisted on making the bed in the guest room with fresh linens for Lardo. By the time he went into Jack’s room, his boyfriend was curled on his side in bed, sound asleep.

April 16, Jack

Jack was among the first Falconers at the practice facility Saturday morning. He took advantage of the ice for an optional skate with Poots and Tater and FitzGerald, and only laughed awkwardly when Marty chirped him for making the rest of the team look lazy.

Jack was a 26-year-old NHL rookie and he didn't have time to waste. They still had 14 games to win to get the Cup, and he was sure it was going to take every ounce of strength and skill he could pour into his effort.

Despite Jack’s relative silence, Marty pushed on.

“I didn't think we'd see you until the meeting,” he said. “Didn't Eric stay last night? You should take advantage of whatever time you get right now.”

“He was with Lardo -- the other one who was here last night -- and they had to get back early,” Jack said. “They took the 8:35 train.”

He felt a twinge of guilt at that. If he'd driven them, they could have left at 8 or 8:15 and been back at the Haus by 9, and he still would have had time to make the 10 o’clock team meeting.

Instead, he'd dropped them at the station with 10 minutes to spare and headed directly to the rink.

Last night, they'd chatted a bit after the game -- Lardo seemed to be leaning toward New York for grad school -- but he'd been so exhausted he fell asleep before Bitty came to bed after settling Lardo in the guest room.

This morning, Bitty was already in the kitchen dicing vegetables for the mostly-egg-white omelette they had for breakfast when Jack’s alarm went off.

He had stopped in the doorway and watched the swing of Bitty’s hips as he worked, mouthing lyrics along with the music that played through his earbuds. 

Jack had wondered again what he had done to deserve such a beautiful boy in his life, then stopped himself. It wasn't about deserving; Bitty was here because he wanted to be, he wanted to be with Jack, and if that wasn't the most amazing thing …

Bitty had seen him, pulled out his earbuds, and come to kiss Jack and stroke his jaw. “That beard’s going to be something else.”

Jack was rubbing his whiskers into Bitty’s neck to make him laugh -- and to enjoy the red that appeared there -- when Lardo stumbled in seeking coffee. 

After that, they'd eaten and cleaned up. Bitty made sure Jack had the two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches he'd made before Jack got up, securely wrapped and stowed in a lunch bag with an ice pack, and a container of mini-pies for the team. Then it was time to go.

Next time, Jack told himself. When they came back from Detroit -- maybe already through to the next round? -- and he saw Bitty again, he’d make sure to spend some time just focusing on Bitty. More than a couple of stolen moments in the kitchen.

The meeting was like a thousand other team meetings Jack had been in: they’d played well, but they could be better, especially on the power play; the Red Wings would come out with everything they had on their home ice, so be prepared and don't let them take you out of your game; make sure to eat right -- was that a glance at Jack? -- and get enough sleep.

Georgia, who had been listening from just inside the door, pulled Jack to the side before he could leave.

“We didn't get any ticket requests from you,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't be needing any.”

“Uh, my parents might come Tuesday if we could win the series then, but I don't think they've decided,” Jack said. “If it's going to be tough for you to get passes, I'm sure my dad can handle it.”

“No, just let us know,” George said. “What about Eric?”

“He won't be there,” Jack said. “He’s got the Samwell hockey banquet tomorrow, and then he has class. The semester’s almost over.”

Jack hesitated a moment. “Are you asking everyone if they have people coming?”

George smiled. “Realistically, most of the guys won't. A couple of wives, some friends who live in the Detroit area -- but you're the only one we hadn't heard from who I thought might be likely to have guests.”

Then he boarded the bus to the airport, read his book on the flight, and checked into the hotel with the team. 

He made dinner plans with Marty and Guy, then settled on his bed and desperately wished Bitty was there to distract him. But it was only 3 p.m., and Bitty should be studying. More likely, he was up to his elbows in pie filling preparing for tomorrow's banquet. Bitty never thought much of the desserts provided by caterers; his pie was better, he always insisted. He was right, of course, but sometimes Jack thought the team could live with a slightly substandard dessert and Bitty could get some rest. Bitty, he was sure, had his priorities in a different order.

In lieu of calling Bitty, Jack opened his laptop and called up the video files he had on the Red Wings goalies.

April 17, Bitty

Bitty sat with his back against the wall of the Haus, next to his bedroom window, and checked his phone again.

No response from Jack.

Jack’s game had ended an hour ago, about the same time as the banquet, and they should be getting back to the hotel soon. Maybe he'd text then, and he and Bitty could talk.

Jack was probably upset. The Falconers had not only lost, they'd been shut out by the backup goalie, Petr Mrazek.

Bitty hadn't actually seen much of the game because he was at the banquet, but from the highlights it looked like the Falconers had their chances. It was just bad luck -- or good goaltending -- that stopped anything from going in.

The thing was, Bitty didn't just want th console Jack over the loss. He needed to tell Jack his own news, and figure out how to feel about it.

Truth be told, Jack would probably know as soon as he bothered to turn on his phone. Bitty was sure it was all over the group chat, which he had been steadfastly ignoring since he returned to the Haus. Captain. Who would have imagined Bitty would be captain of this team.

He was honored, of course, and flattered, but also flat-out gobsmacked that anyone thought he was in any way qualified to lead Samwell Men’s Hockey. Feed them, yes, but lead them?

Bitty himself had voted for Dex, who had the hockey skills to lead on the ice and the kind of seriousness Bitty thought the job needed, Random and Holster notwithstanding. And he was organized enough to get everything done.

Enough people apparently agreed with Bitty’s appraisal of himself that he hadn’t been a shoo-in. He'd won with eight votes, Dex had come second with five, Wicks and Ollie each took a couple.

Holster stuck his head out the window and grinned when he saw Bitty. “Hey, Cap,” he said, before turning back into his room and telling someone, “He's out here.”

Within moments he was flanked by more than 400 pounds of defenseman.

“Bitty-bro,” Ransom said, “I’ll say it again: congratulations. The team couldn't have made a better choice.”

Bitty snorted.

“Seriously,” Holster said. “It's like Johnson said in the group text: It had to be you. The narrative demanded it.”

“I don't even know what that means,” Bitty said. “Neither do you, I don't think.”

Holster shrugged.

“I'm pretty sure it means he approves, so it's all good,” he said.

Random nudged Bitty with his shoulder. “But you look a little overwhelmed right now,” he said. “That's OK. That's how I felt last year, and I had Holster here doing it with me.”

“And I had Ransom,” Holster said.

“If you guys are trying to make it better …”

“No, wait,” Ransom said. “We’re trying to say we both got your back. We know you've got Jack and all --”

“Talk about a hard act to follow,” Holster said. 

“-- but he's kinda busy and travels a lot during the hockey season, or so I've heard,” Ransom said.

“And Ransom and I will just be in Boston, just a phone call or a text away,” Holster said. “But really, Bitty, you got this.”

“I’m not like Jack or like you guys,” Bitty said.

“And we’re not like Jack.” Ransom said. “As captain, your job is to lead the team, to get them to play their best. Not to show them the best way to play -- that’s the coaches’ job. Your job is to get them to give their best, and there’s not one guy on this team that won’t leave it all on the ice for you.”

“But I didn’t even get half the votes,” Bitty said. 

Ransom shrugged. “I think some people thought maybe you didn’t want it.”

“Or maybe they didn’t want me.”

“They’ll learn,” Holster said. “You’ll see.”

“Thanks for the faith in me,” Bitty said, as his phone buzzed. “I think that’s Jack.”.

“We did have an official message to deliver,” Holster said. “Hall and Murray want to see you at Faber tomorrow at 4, just to go over official stuff.”

“Thanks, guys.”

He looked at his phone and saw Jack’s text. _Call me?_

As soon as Jack picked up, he said, “You’ll never guess what happened.”

“I think I have a clue,” Jack said. “Congratulations, Bits. You’ll be great.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Bitty said. “Sorry about the game.”

“Euhh,” Jack said. “It could have been better, sure. But it’s one game.”

Bitty knew an answer created for press when he heard one.

“Who are you and what have you done with Jack Zimmermann?”

“Now we just get to win the series at home, eh?” Jack said. “Tell me about the banquet.”

“Well, Chowder got the Carlisle,” Bitty said. “Which he totally deserved.”

“And?”

“They voted me captain,” Bitty said. “But I didn’t even get half the votes.”

“But you got the most,” Jack said.

“I guess I did,” Bitty said.

“You take care of those guys like nobody else,” Jack said. “They respect you, they listen to you and they know you care about them. I was so much of a better captain after I met you.”

April 18, Jack

There was nothing like having a Monday in April off in Detroit, Jack thought.

He didn’t really know anyone here. His father never played in Detroit, and none of the Red Wings were in the group of young players that had hung out at Uncle Mario’s and occasionally visited the Zimmermann lake house in the summer.

It was fine. There was a team meeting and strategy session, a group session to watch tape, time in a gym away from prying eyes, team lunch. He could get dinner with Snowy and Tater, maybe Poots. Not at Chelios’ place. Anywhere else. Not that he had anything against Chris Chelios. Just, if they were going to be recognized anywhere, that would be the place.

He had his camera, too. He could go out get some pictures, maybe of the river, some of the art alongside it. Bitty might like it.

Bitty was going to be captain. How about that. Jack would never say this to Bitty, but if someone had asked him to bet on whether they little frog with the fainting problem would be captain before he graduated, he would have wagered everything he owned against it.

But that was before he saw Bitty fly on skates, tearing up the ice faster than most NHL skaters, or dangle the puck off his stick just out of the reach of his opponents. That was before he saw the determination Bitty had to get past his fear of being checked, getting up early day after day, skating out on the ice game after game, coming back after being knocked nearly unconscious. Bitty used to say, “Jack Zimmermann works harder than God.”

Well, Eric Bittle worked every bit as hard. He just didn’t give himself the credit (or blame?) for that.

Maybe it was a figure skating thing, he mused, pulling out his laptop and opening YouTube. It was a guilty pleasure, watching a teenage Bitty figure skate. Jack had seen the routines maybe a dozen times now; the first one had come up on a suggested videos list after Jack had binge-watched Bitty’s vlog and Jack determinedly turned his eyes away. Bitty hadn’t given him permission, after all, and he’d been so clear about not wanting the team to look up his other videos.

But in the fall, when Jack’s will was weakening, he’d finally asked Bitty on a Skype call.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to watch without asking, but I know you were a champion and I saw the videos on the tape you sent to Samwell and the pictures at your parents’ house and I really want to see, but I won’t if you want to keep that private,” he’d said.

Bitty had looked embarrassed for a minute, then raised his chin and said, “There’s really nothing I don’t want you to know,” he said. “And it’s out there on the internet and when I skated, there were hundreds of people watching, so there’s really no point in trying to hide it. But remember, I was just the southern regional champion, so I wasn’t that amazing.”

“I bet you were,” Jack said.

They’d never talked about Bitty’s youthful figure skating career after that, but Bitty would sometimes bring his figure skates to the rink with Jack and work on step sequences and spins and even a few jumps when Jack was there, and sometimes Jack watched the videos when he was alone and didn’t want to read or watch more tape. There were only about a dozen videos of Bitty skating online, the earliest from when he was about 12 and more from when he was 14 and 15.

Watching him, Jack could see the same strength and determination that he brought to his hockey. The speed, the agility, the power in those jumps -- it was no joke. Neither was the fact that Bitty won a spot on a NCAA Division I team in a sport he’d only been playing for three years. Jack had been playing hockey since he was 3, and one reason he’d worked so hard to bring the team up to his level at Samwell was that he really didn’t know what he’d do without hockey in his life.

Bitty had already reinvented himself; for him, hockey was what he did after figure skating, and Bitty would do something else after hockey at Samwell.

Jack could hear the chirps in his head, in Shitty’s voice: “What he’s going to do is you, Jacky-boy.”

But that wasn’t good enough for Bitty. Jack knew that. He didn’t know what Bitty was going to do, but that wasn’t because Bitty didn’t have any prospects. It was because he had so many things going on in his life, so many ways he could go, things he could do, and he shouldn’t limit himself.

Was he limiting himself by being with Jack? Jack knew Bitty didn’t think so. He’d been able to sell his parents on the idea of staying in Providence for the summer by saying there were more opportunities there. This internship was a good opportunity, Jack knew, and Bitty would be good at it, finding ways to help the hospital and its people communicate their stories with video, with social media, with whatever means were at hand..

He’d be a good captain, too, Jack knew it, and he hoped Bitty knew it too.

He checked his watch. Three p.m. First he texted Tater. _Dinner? 6 or 6:30?_

Then he texted Bitty. _Free to Skype?_

Bitty’s response was immediate: _Gotta meet Hall and Murray at 4, so free for 45 minutes or so right now?_

Jack clicked on the Skype app and saw Bitty was already on.

He connected the call.

“Hey, Jack, What’s up? Having an exciting off day?”

“Hey, bud. I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you,” Jack said. “I’m so glad that we’re together.”

“OK,” Bits said. “You sure you’re OK? I mean, I’m glad we’re together too, but you’re on an off-day in the middle of the playoffs.”

“ _Ouais,”_ Jack said. “I just missed you, and I wanted to make sure you knew how much I admire you.”

And the blush I can see on your face, Jack thought but didn’t say.

“Jack, you can’t just say things like that,” Bitty said. “Now I’m going to meet with Hall and Murray with this goofy look on my face.”

“They’ll be fine,” Jack said. “They’ve dealt with worse. I promise.

April 19, Bitty

Tuesday was definitely Bitty’s least favorite day of the week.

It was too far from Sunday to be part of an extended weekend, too far from Friday to consider an early start. He had three classes, starting with French and ending with calculus (what possessed him to take both in one semester? Oh, yeah, getting his math and foreign language requirements out of the way) so both the morning and the afternoon were shot, and his early history class on Wednesday meant he couldn’t manage a midweek trip to see Jack most Tuesday nights.

So, yeah, not a good day usually.

This day was shaping up to be a little better than usual -- he got a 90 on his French quiz, and managed to turn his calculus problem set in on time. He’d had time to make brownies and key lime and lemon chess pies for the boys to watch the Falconers game. Lord, April was hard. He was a month away from fresh, in-season peaches and strawberries -- at least in Georgia, and in some of the supermarkets up here -- but he was so tired of baking with ingredients that were available all winter. He could have done an apple pie, he knew, but he’d save that for Jack. Besides, he couldn’t really make chess pie when Jack was around -- he’d go pale at the filling of eggs, sugar and butter. 

He was sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for the last pie to come out of the oven and contemplating his final history essay, when Ransom dropped into the seat next to him.

“You all right, Bitty?” Ransom asked. “I know you have a lot on your plate, especially with being captain and all, and I wanted to make sure you feel like you have a handle on things. Holster and I meant what we said -- we’ll do whatever we can. I can even leave you my Excel worksheets for keeping track of the team.”

Bitty swallowed hard.

What would he really have to keep track of? His meeting with Murray and Hall had mostly been reassuring; they told him that as captain, they expected him to lead warm-ups and off-ice conditioning, although each player would have their own weight and cardio program created by the strength coach. He was to “lead by example” in the locker room, they said, and Bitty wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, except that coaches thought it wouldn’t be a problem for him.

“Just be yourself,” they said. “They boys already listen to you. Just don’t fall for any dumb ideas.”

He was also supposed to help motivate the team to work hard and do their best.

“Again,” Murray said, “in my experience, the best way to do that is by example, and once you got through whatever the issue was last fall, you’ve done that.”

The issue last fall -- the one where Bitty could hardly stay upright on his skates because he was so tired from late night and early morning journeys to and from Providence -- well, that ended when he and Jack stopped hiding their relationship from his Hausmates, and when they had realized that no matter how much they wanted to see each other all the time, they had to choose their moments.

Still, being captain meant more responsibility. It could be that Bitty wouldn’t be able to go to Providence as much as had last season.

But Hall was still talking. “It’s not your job to coach the team,” he said. “We’ll come up with plays, and we’ll figure out what to work on and how to do it in practice. If you have any ideas or suggestions, of course, we’d be happy to listen.”

“Actually, if there’s anything you learned as a figure skater that you could teach the boys -- how you learned to skate so fast, or to develop more agility on the ice -- please share that,” Murray said.

“I don’t know that I can really change anyone’s skating style,” Bitty said. “But maybe I could show them some things to improve flexibility? It wouldn’t take a lot of time, but it could help.”

“We also want you to know that as captain, you are the face of the team,” Murray said. “While your personal life is yours, please understand that there might be more interest in it. I understand from what I’ve heard that you identify publicly as gay?”

“Yes, Coach,” Bitty said, wondering why he was bringing it up.

“That’s not very remarkable on this campus,” Murray said. “But even so, you’re the first out gay captain this team has had, and I haven’t heard of any on other teams either. That might draw a fair bit of attention, and it’s up to you how you want handle it. If you want to talk about it, do interviews, that’s fine with us. If you want to let your hockey speak for itself, that’s fine too. But it would help if you talk to us about what you plan to say so we know how to handle it.”

“What he means, son,” Hall said, “is there’s going to more of a spotlight on you. What do you boys say? We got your back.”

“I have to think about that, sir,” Bitty had said. “I am out here, and online and everything, and my parents know, but I don’t think everyone at home does. I have to think about how this will affect other people.”

Bitty had thought about it last night. It wasn’t something he could bring up to Jack during his playoffs, when Jack needed to focus on his hockey. He would talk to Jack about it after the season, and then maybe to his mother and Coach at Fourth of July. His instinct was not to say too much about it at least until his season was over, if only to avoid questions about whether he was in a relationship.

He’d managed to put most of that out of his mind while he went to classes -- only two weeks left before finals -- and baked the brownies, key lime pie, pecan pie and chess pie. Was there an extra pie in there? Well, really, stress baking was _a thing_ for him. No one should be surprised.

By 8 p.m., he was in the armchair in living room with everyone who lived in the Haus, plus Nursey and Dex, Ollie and Wicks, Tango and tonight, even Whiskey.

“Before we even start, y’all, I’m declaring this game a fine-free zone,” Bitty said. “At least for me. That is, if y’all want to partake of any of the pie or brownies I made.”

“Fine,” Dex huffed. “But we’re getting close to that washer, and we all know Jack pays all your fines anyway.”

“And he’s not here to defend himself,” Bitty said sweetly. “And I made four pies. So no fines for me.”

“Fine,” Dex said grudgingly. “I mean, OK.”.

“Besides,” Bitty said, “who put you in charge of the sin bin anyway?”

“Would you rather face Ransom and Holster and me?” Lardo said. “Because between us, I think we have a pretty good idea of just how much Jack can afford.”

“I think as captain I’m going to have to rethink this system,” Bitty said.

“Can’t, bro,” Lardo said. “It’s in the bylaws.” 

Over the course of the game, Dex yelled, “That should be a fine!” every time Bitty commented on Jack, and a couple of times when he said Bitty was just watching him too closely. But everyone was watching Jack, who had been scoring at unreal pace in the playoffs so far.

The Falconers ended up winning 3-2, with Jack scoring the first two goals and all three goals coming on the power play.

“Dude, you going to the game Thursday?” Ransom asked. “They can clinch it.” 

“I don’t know,” Bitty said. “I have class Friday morning, and I can’t ask Jack to bring me back.”

“I’ve got my truck here,” Holster said. “‘I’ll drive you. We can just go for the game and come right back.”

That wasn’t really what Bitty wanted, but it would probably be the best he could get.

“Thanks, Holster,” he said. “That’d be great.”

“Don’t worry, Bits,” Holster said. “I’ll wait for you to say goodbye to your man.”

“Fine!” Dex said. “Game’s over.”


	4. April 21-25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Falconers move on in the playoffs; the academic year at Samwell inches toward its end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The playoffs and the end of the year are both wearying times, and it's hard to stay in close enough communication.

Chapter 4

April 21, Jack

Jack taped his stick and steadied his breathing.

If they could win tonight, the Falconers would be through to the second round of the playoffs, which would match their best season so far. 

But it was too soon to think about that. Now was the time to think about the game.

Bitty would be here, he knew. Jack wished he’d been able able to see him before arriving at the arena and starting to prepare, but that hadn’t been possible. Bitty’s classes were important too.

Bitty would be seated on the lower level, a few rows behind the penalty boxes, with Holster. Jack had offered a ticket for Ransom, too, but he’d stayed behind to study.

If anyone was paying enough attention to the Falconer’s home games the last month or two, and realized that Bitty was at more than half of them, they could play a game of “Where’s Bitty?”, finding him in a different seat each time. The thought made Jack smile. He’d really liked searching out Waldo in his red and white stripes when he was small.

His parents were here, too. They’d be sitting in the family box. They arrived this morning and had lunch with him, ready to celebrate his first playoff series win in the NHL. But he couldn’t think about that yet.

He had plans to go out for a quick bite after the game with his parents and Bitty and Holster, win or lose. It would be much better if they won. He would have to remember to include Holster in the conversation. Not that he and Holster weren’t friends, of course, but it would be easier if it was just Bitty and Maman and Papa, people he knew loved him. 

Holster had always been a little too loud, pushed back against Jack a little too hard, for Jack to really connect to him. Jack remembered the glares Holster had sent his way Bitty’s frog year, when Jack had his head buried so deep up his ass he couldn’t appreciate what a gift to the team Bitty would turn out to be. He half thought Holster and Ransom had more or less adopted Bitty in reaction to Jack’s arctic welcome.

It turned out, of course, that they (and Shitty, and Johnson, and Lardo when she returned from Kenya) were entirely right. Bitty was 130 pounds of heart and speed on ice, and if Jack was honest, he was half gone on Bitty by the end of that year.

Jack finished with his stick, checked his phone to find good luck messages from Bitty and the rest of his former teammates, then suited up for warmups.

Jack knew that the Red Wings would put everything they had into this game. For them, it was win or go home.

There was no score after the first period, with both teams tightening up their D and working to eliminate any odd-man rushes. Snowy put on a clinic in the second period, when the Red Wings outshot the Falconers 14-6, including breakaways by Sheahan, Larkin and Helm in the period, but remained scoreless.

When Marty faced the team in the second intermission, he told them, “All we have to is score one goal. We have to get one past Mrazek and go from there. Let’s hang on, make Snow’s effort count. They’re gonna leave it all out there, and we should too.”

The play evened up in the third, the puck moving from end to end, shots nearly equal.

It ended up being Fitzgerald who slipped one past Mrazek, who left the crease to play the puck and then had it bounce away from him. Marty got it and passed it to Fitzgerald who knocked it in before Mrazek could get back in position. The goal happened with 1:43 left, and Snow converted on the shutout. The Falconers were through to the second round.

Jack and his guests ended up at Thee Red Fez with most of the team because the kitchen was open late and the team knew they had at least a few days to relax before the end of the Islanders-Panthers series, which was still tied 2-2. 

Jack nursed a beer and watched Bitty down two cocktails called “bunny pops” (they involved something with blackberry and elderflower, cucumber vodka and soda) and get slightly tipsy. He also watched to make sure Holster didn’t have more than two beers before driving back to Providence.

He was watching Bitty laugh at something Tater was saying when his father sat down next to him.

“Who knew you could get poutine in Rhode Island?” his father said.

“Live and learn,” Jack responded.

“Eric seems to be having a good time,” Bob observed.

“Yeah, he’s had a couple,” Jack said. “He’s not legal yet, but …”

“But in a group this size, after you won the series, no one’s going to question it,” Bob said. “Well, he’s a keeper.”

“I know,” Jack said. “I’m trying.”

“I don’t think he has any objections,” Bob said.

Holster came over and said, “We’re going to have to take off in a few, if you want to, uh, say goodbye or anything.”

Then Bitty was at the door, catching Jack’s eye, and slipping into the back hallway.

Jack followed, and wrapped Bitty in his arms.

“I wish I could stay,” Bitty said.

“I wish you could too,” Jack said. “But you have to go to school. Spring C this weekend?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “But I don’t have to go.”

“Go,” Jack said. “You’re in college. Enjoy it. I’ll see you after. I’ll be waiting when you get back to the Haus.”

“OK,” Bitty said, reaching up for a soft kiss. “See you then.”

“Love you,” Jack said.

“Love you too. Two days.”

“Two days.”

**************************************

April 22: Bitty

One more week of classes, reading week, and then finals.

All Bitty had to do was hold on for one more week of classes.

It wasn’t even as though he disliked the history class he had Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings. Its focus on the homefront in the U.S. during World War II, gave lots of scope for him to write about food culture, and the readings and lectures did help him develop an understanding of the forces that shaped the way America ate, from rationing and victory gardens to the boom in what had been considered exotic and foreign foods after the war ended.

He’d chosen the class at least partially because of a lecture he’d heard Professor Linwood give on the history of ice cream. And Linwood had been fine with Bitty missing class for his interview at Hasbro.

But he was ready to be done. He had one more essay due in this class, on how the expanded palates of the returning soldiers gave rise to the American foodie culture, then he had to study for the final, which would likely include at least three essay questions not of Bitty’s choosing.

Add that to studying for French -- which had written and an oral exam -- and his sociology of celebrity class. Although it was hard to complain about that one; his knowledge of the Carters could probably carry him through.

He had a meeting with Jacqui already set up for reading week; it was the middle of the day, so he could go to Providence and come back in one day if Jack was on the road. Jacqui had mentioned wanting to do more with video, both internally and externally. Bitty thought that maybe they could offer patients the opportunity to create videos to share with their families; the best ones, with patient and parental approval, could be shared on the hospital’s social media accounts. He would run the idea past Jacqui and see what she thought.

He dug into his pocket for cash as the line at Annie’s moved slowly forward. Coffee would help, and some Friday afternoon baking in preparation for Spring C would do wonders. He could plan out a schedule for getting all his work done over the next two weeks while he baked.

“Eric? It’s Eric, right?”

The voice came from behind him.

Eric turned to see a tall boy -- man -- guy, a student at least. He was easily as tall as Jack, but a good 50 or 60 pounds lighter. Eric knew he’d met him, probably at a Haus party, probably introduced by Ransom or Holster. Probably an athlete. Runner, maybe?

“Yes, I’m Eric,” Bitty said. “We met at a party, didn’t we?”

“Last fall,” the runner (well, probably runner) answered. “At the hockey Haus? Justin invited me.”

“That’s right,” Eric said. What was his name? Ian, Liam …

“I’m Sean,” the guy said. “I had to leave early that night because we had a meet the next morning in Providence.”

Meet? He couldn’t be a swimmer, he was too thin. Must be cross country.

“I hope you ran well,” Eric said. “I can’t imagine your coach would want you at a kegster the night before. We tend to party after a game, not before.”

“‘We?’ Oh, that’s right, Justin said you were on the team,” Sean said. 

Duh, Bitty thought. Why else would I live in the hockey Haus?

The line shuffled forward. Two more people before Bitty.

“Actually, I’m captain next season,” Bitty said.

“Really? That’s pretty cool,” Sean said. “We don’t really have captains for cross country.”

Sean ran a hand through his hair, clearly styled with some kind of product. Objectively, he was a good-looking guy, Bitty thought. The kind of guy he once would have thought was out of his league, but, well, if Jack thought he was in Jack’s league …

“Hockey has always had captains,” Bitty said. “They’re supposed to speak for the team to coaches and officials. I was kind of surprised they elected me, to be honest.”

“Sounds like a big honor,” Sean said. “Listen, I know Spring C is tomorrow, and maybe you’re arleady busy, but would you maybe want to go with me? Now that neither of our sports is in season?”

Good Lord, why couldn’t this line move faster? The person ahead of Bitty was ordering what felt like 10 coffees, all with some special request.

“Uh, it sounds like fun, but I have plans,” Bitty said.

“That’s cool,” Sean said. “Figures a guy like you, big hockey captain, would have a date.”

What the heck was that supposed to mean?

“No, I’m going with my friends,” Bitty clarified, because there was no way he owed this guy any information about his personal life.

Sean shrugged. “I bet we could have fun together. Maybe another time? Give me your phone and I’ll put my number in.”

No way Bitty was handing his phone over.

“It’s dead,” Bitty said. “Here.” He reached around the person in front for a napkin. “Write it on here if you want.”

Sean dug a pen out of his bag while Bitty ordered a caramel macchiato. Bitty had just paid and stepped to the side when Sean tucked the napkin in the back pocket of Bitty’s trousers. Gross.

“Maybe we can see more of each other in the future,” Sean said.

Double gross, Bitty thought.

“I’ll see you around,” he said, escaping the coffee shop finally … and practically walking into Dex.

“Who was that?” Dex said, not even pretending he hadn’t been watching.

“Someone who’s surprised I’m on the hockey team and wants my number,” Bitty said.

“He seemed a little forward,” Dex said.

“You think?” Bitty said. 

“Did you tell him you had a boyfriend?” Dex asked.

“Not his business,” Bitty said. “I just said I couldn’t go to Spring C with him, so he gave me his number. Which I’m going to spill coffee on. Right now.”

“Couldn’t go, or didn’t want to?” Dex asked. “Because if you just said you couldn’t, I can see him maybe thinking he had a chance.”

“I know, I know,” Bitty said. “But I didn’t want to get into the ‘but why not?’ conversation. But acting like it’s weird that I play hockey, and then putting his number in my pocket? Ugh.”

“Kind of a dick move,” Dex said. “Well, don’t worry about tomorrow. We got your back, cap.”

“I’m still not used to that,” Bitty said. “Does this mean I have to be responsible tomorrow?”

“Uh, I think this is still on Ransom and Holster’s watch,” Dex said.

Bitty snorted.

“The only thing those two will be responsible for is getting everybody schwasted,” he said.

*****************************************

April 23, Jack

Jack queued up Netflix and started the first episode of “Conspiracy.” The premise was ridiculous, of course. Hitler really did die in that bunker in Berlin. But as a thought experiment … well, it was good background noise.

He was trying to avoid hockey, at least for today. The Falconers’ next opponent wouldn’t be set until tomorrow at the earliest, when the Islanders could eliminate the Panthers, and their second round series wouldn’t start until next week. He had some time to think about other things, so he was trying while he waited for Bitty..

But Bitty wasn’t here, fussing over the filthy green couch or baking anything or complaining about his homework. Bitty was somewhere in the mass of students on Lake Quad, probably dancing to the music Jack could hear in the Haus living room over the sound of the TV.

Jack had toyed with the idea of joining the team at the concert. He wouldn’t drink -- not during the playoffs, not surrounded by underage students -- but he could be something of a designated walker, making sure that everyone (Bitty) made it home safely, in shorts far too short for the weather, and, if last year was any guide, wearing only one shoe.

But after his season with the Falconers, Jack was something of a celebrity on campus, and all he would need would be grainy photos on social media of him surrounded by drunk students. It wouldn’t matter if he was drinking or not.

So he had driven down in the early evening and let himself in to wait for Bits. He’d either spend the night here or take Bitty back to Providence, depending on whether Bitty seemed to be in any state to tolerate 45 minutes in a car.

Was it wrong to look forward to seeing drunk Bitty? 

Jack had listened to -- not just heard, but actually listened to -- all of Shitty’s lectures on consent, and they’d actually helped him understand a lot about what happened with him and Kent. When they’d started hooking up, they were teenagers, drunk off their asses with almost unlimited access to alcohol and no experience or guidance in moderation. Probably neither one of them were able to really consider the consequences of their actions.

Last year, when he’d hoisted Bitty onto his back for the trip back to the Haus from Lake Quad … well, he’d known Bitty was in no state to even think of anything like that. Looking back, Jack could admit that he’d been thinking about the strong thighs around his waist, the hair brushing his neck, the hot breath over his ear. Then, he’d chalked it up to the two beers (OK, four, if you counted the whole day) he’d had. Now, he knew it was all about Bitty.

Last year, he’d carried Bitty directly to his room and laid him in his bed, taken off his one remaining shoe, pulled up his duvet, made sure his water bottle was full and smoothed the hair off his forehead before leaving.

Jack realized he’d missed most of the show he was watching and stopped it, changing the channel to NBCSN to catch highlights.

He watched the Penguins score four goals in the second period on their way to a 6-3 win to clinch their series over the Rangers. They definitely had some offense this year. The Blackhawks beat the Blues to stay alive in their series, and Anaheim took a 3-2 series lead over the Predators.

It sounded like the concert was coming to a close. The music changed to something recorded, and he could hear rowdy groups of students coming closer. Not wanting to be caught watching hockey, he switched off the television just before Bitty came in, on his own feet, both shoes present and accounted for, and belting out the lyrics to some pop song with Holster.

“ -- through the fire, ‘cause I am the champion, and you're gonna hear me roar louder, louder than a lion ‘cause I am a champion, and you're gonna hear me roar!”

Lardo and Ransom chimed in with roars, and then Bitty caught sight of Jack in the living room and launched himself at him.

“Sweet pea! How long have you been sitting here all by your lonesome? You should have texted. I would have come back.”

“That's all right, buf. Didn't want to spoil your fun.”

Lardo pulled Bitty’s phone from the back pocket of her cut-offs and handed it to Jack. 

“I had your phone anyway, Bits,” she said. “For all of our protection.”

Jack settled Bitty back on his feet and gave him an assessing look. 

“How’re you feeling?” he asked. “You want to go home to Providence or stay here?”

Bitty looked blankly at Lardo and Holster and Ransom.

“Think they’re gonna go to sleep, Bits,” Jack said. 

Lardo nodded in agreement.

“And the bed at the condo is bigger,” Jack said.

“An’ you need a big bed,” Bitty agreed. “Cause you're a big guy. My bed’s too small.”

Bitty frowned.

“But my bed’s big enough for both of us,” Jack said. “And soft and warm.”

“Mmmm,” Bitty said. “Lovely and warm.”

Then Bitty’s eyes opened wide.

“Wait. Where's Chowder?”

“He's with Farmer,” Ransom said. “And with Nursey and Dex. He's fine.”

“Do you have to bring books and things with you, to study tomorrow?” Jack said. 

Bitty nodded, maybe too emphatically.

“My laptop and my notes and things are in my bookbag,” he said. “In my room. I’ll go get them.”

“You stay here,” Jack said. “I’ll get them. Is it unlocked?”

Bitty nodded again, then slumped into the chair, carefully avoiding the couch.

Holster followed Jack to the stairs.

“You know you’re lucky Dex isn’t here,” he said. “You and Bits would be on for the rest of the new washer and a new fridge.”

“Haha. Probably. But I was going to just have a washer installed as soon as everyone’s gone for the summer. You think the fridge needs to replaced, too?”

“Well, maybe not replaced. But Bitty would probably like one just for butter.”

“True,” Jack said.

“Listen, have Bits tell you about Dex and Nursey tomorrow, OK?” Holster said. “And take care of him tonight. He’s not as bad as last year, but he’ll probably need to sleep it off.”

“Holster -- Adam -- first, I went to this school for four years and lived in this Haus for three. I know how to take care of someone who’s had a little too much,” Jack said. “Second, I love Eric. There’s no way I’m going to do anything but take care of him. You know that, right?”

Holster looked down and then back up.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “And God knows he loves you. I guess I’m just a little verklempt about graduation, you know? I’m going to miss looking out for him.”

“It’s fine,” Jack said. “You’ll be in Boston. I’m sure you can come visit as much as you want.”

April 24

The hangover, surprisingly, was not as bad as Bitty expected.

Maybe it was the scrambled eggs and toast Jack made him eat when they arrived in Providence, or the two full glasses of water he made him drink. But when Bitty awoke to mid-morning light streaming in Jack’s windows, he felt almost human. Almost.

There was no sign of Jack in the bedroom, although his side of the bed had been slept in, so Bitty rolled to his feet, assessed his balance -- once again, better than expected, and no nausea to speak of -- and went to take a shower and brush his teeth.

He found Jack in the living room, looking at the TV with the sound off. As soon as Jack saw him appear in the doorway -- dressed in shorts and one of Jack’s old Samwell hockey T-shirts -- Jack clicked the TV off.

“You’d think I caught you watching porn,” Bitty said. “So let me guess: Watching tape?”

Jack grimaced a bit. “Penguins vs. Rangers. The Pens have a lot of scoring threats right now. It’s not just Sid and Geno.”

“So why’d you turn it off?” he asked. “I don’t mind.”

Jack shrugged. “Trying not to let hockey be all-consuming, I guess.”

“You’re an NHL player. No, wait, you’re an NHL star who was made assistant captain as rookie who is in the midst of the playoffs,” Bitty said. “You can be forgiven. Especially by your boyfriend, who left you all alone to go to a concert last night and then slept in. And who really has to study today. Tell you what -- if you make time to help me practice my oral presentation for French, then you can watch as much hockey as you like. After breakfast.”

“Breakfast was three hours ago,” Jack said.

“And I bet you had a chalky, disgusting protein shake,” Bitty said.

“Anyway, I was going to take you out for whatever meal comes around 11 o’clock in the morning,” Jack said.

“On a Sunday? Breakfast,” Bitty insisted.

“But not dressed like that,” Jack said, his eyes on the hem of Bitty’s (Jack’s) T-shirt, which almost covered the shorts Bitty was wearing.

“That’s OK, I’ll make something for us,” Bitty said. “And by something I mean pancakes. I’ll do some Canadian bacon, too, if you insist on protein. And I’m making coffee.”

“None for me,” Jack said.

“I forgot -- no caffeine. Fine. Herbal tea for you.”

“Let me go to Starbucks and get you coffee,” Jack said. “Since I can’t take you out.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting down to plates of pancakes with real maple syrup (“You’re sure that’s on your diet plan?” Bitty chirped), Canadian bacon and fresh fruit. Jack also had a vegetable smoothie and green tea, while Bitty sipped at a cinnamon dolce latte.

“So what happened with Dex and Nursey?” Jack asked. “Holster said to ask you. Are they getting dibs?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Bitty said around a mouthful of pancake.

“Sharing the attic?” Jack asked. “Or one up there and one in Lards’ room?”

“Uh-uh,” Bitty said, now swallowing coffee. “Ransom and Holster didn’t want to get into the whole Nursey-Dex drama thing, so they gave their dibs to Ollie and Wicks as they next D-pair in line. Which is cool, I guess, but Dex has done so much more for the Haus that I thought it was a little unfair.”

“So that leaves Lardo’s room -- which has only ever had one person, as far as I know,” Jack said. “So who did she give it to?”

“She couldn’t make up her mind,” Bitty said. “I think she really wanted to give it to Nursey -- he’s apparently helped her a lot with papers and stuff the last couple of years. But Dex pretty much keeps the Haus standing. So I invoked the dib-flip bylaw.”

“Dib-flip?” Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Where if someone can’t decide between two people, they flip a coin?” Bitty said. “Shitty made sure I knew all the bylaws before you guys graduated.”

“How did I not know this?” Jack said.

“Maybe Shitty didn’t think you needed to know because he was there? Anyway, they flipped the coin in Lardo’s room, and it got stuck on its edge between the floorboards,” Bitty said. “So we -- Lardo and me, basically -- said they should share the room. I mean, it’s bigger than a double in the dorms, right?”

Jack nodded. “How did that go over?”

“Nursey seemed really excited, and Chowder was over the moon, but Dex … wasn’t,” Bitty said. “And then Nursey was disappointed Dex didn’t want to live with him. It was kind of bad for a few days.”

“Wait -- when did this happen?” 

“Ummm, Tuesday, I think,” Bitty said. “I didn’t mention it because, well, you were a little busy. Anyway, I got Dex alone to ask what the problem was, because they really have been getting along better, and any two people who work together on the ice the way they do should be able to get along. It came down to two things. One, he’s had to share a room his whole life, and he was really looking forward to having his own space, and two, he doesn’t want to fight with Nursey, and he’s afraid that all that chill will set him off.”

“But you said they got dibs and they were together at Spring C,” Jack said. “So how was it resolved?”

“First I talked to Nursey about why Dex was disappointed, and he kind of got the thing about wanting his own room, so he agreed that they’ll do bunks, Dex can have the top and Nursey won’t go up there or touch Dex’s stuff,” Bitty said. “And he admitted that sometimes he riles Dex up on purpose just because he likes to see him get mad, and he promised not to do that, at least not in their room. I believe the words ‘chill-free zone’ were used.”

Bitty took another bite of pancakes.

“Anyway, then Chowder and I took both of them out for coffee, and Nursey promised Dex that he wouldn’t try to annoy him, and Dex said he really likes Nursey, most of the time, so he’ll try, and Chowder and I pointed out that we were both witnesses to their good intentions, so they’re going to try,” Bitty said with a shrug.

“Look at you captain-ing already,” Jack said. “Good for you.”

“You say that now,” Bitty said. “Who knows? You might come to visit next year and find Dex sleeping on my floor.”

*************************************************

April 25, Jack

Bitty spent Sunday night with Jack, too, despite his Monday morning class. His last essay was done, he said, and Linwood wouldn’t take attendance.

Jack took him to the train station before heading to practice, wishing once again that Bitty wasn’t at the mercy of the MTA. But between practice and team meetings, Jack wouldn’t be free until early afternoon, and Bitty needed to get back to Samwell.

“I wish I could just stay, but there’s a book I need at Founders, and I have a study group for calculus, and, well, Lardo said she could get me some ice time at Faber,” Bitty said. “I’ll be back Wednesday for your game. Can I stay that night? I can catch a train back on Thursday.”

“Of course,” Jack said. “I think they just set aside tickets for you automatically now, but I’ll make sure. Two days.”

“Two days,” Bitty echoed. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Bits,” Jack said. 

Then Bitty hopped out of the car and was gone.

It was selfish, Jack thought, to wish Bitty did stay in Providence. He’d be sitting alone in an empty apartment when the rest of his life -- school, his team, his friends -- were all at Samwell. In three weeks, it would be different. Bitty would move in for the summer, and he had a job in Providence, and he’d make friends. But for now, Bitty had to finish off the semester. Playoffs might be his busy season at work, for lack of a better term, but Bitty was a student and finals were his busy season and Jack would have to make allowances.

Practice wasn’t too heavy, just a keep-in-shape skate, then working on breakouts and special teams. Now that they knew they’d be playing the Islanders -- Jack had watched their game against Florida with Bitty last night -- the coaches spent some time running tape and talking strategy, and then the team was released for lunch.

After that, and a workout in the gym, Jack unlocked his phone. There was a text from Bitty saying he was home -- Jack had seen the notification on his lock screen before the gym -- and a call from his dad to return.

After hearing about the Dex-and-Nursey situation, Jack decided to call up the SMH group chat. He’d turned off notifications a while ago because he couldn’t keep up with its dozens of messages a day, but maybe he could make an effort to check in more often.

The message at the top of the queue was from Dex.

_Everybody see that douchebag checking out Bits at Spring C?_

What? Well, sure, Bitty would attract attention, Jack reasoned. And he came back from Spring C none the worse for wear. So why was Dex still talking about it two days later?

Dex was typing again.

_he was talking to Bitty again today._

The conversation snowballed from there.

Bitty: _it’s not a big deal. He left when I asked him to leave me alone_

Ransom: _if he doesn’t, tell me. Sorry I ever invited that creeper to a Haus party._

Bitty: _fine, but I don’t think it will be a problem_

Nursey: _maybe not, but Dex told me what happened, and then he like never took his eyes off you Saturday. It was pretty creepy._

Bitty: …. _i didn’t see him at Spring C_

Nursey: _That’s bc he was mostly behind your group. C and Dex and I were a little further back, and Dex pointed him out._

Bitty: _and still, he left when I said no. I just should have said I wasn’t interested the first time._

Holster: _but getting familiar and touching you w/o permission is a big no-no, bro._

Jack had read enough. He called Bitty.

“What’s all this on the group chat?”

“It’s really nothing,” Bitty said.

“You’re the only one who seems to think so,” Jack said.

“Nothing happened,” Bitty said.

“Holster said he touched you.”

“Just to give me his phone number.”

“He touched you to give you his phone number?”

“He put it my pocket,” Bitty said.

“You should have decked him. Wait, why did you take his phone number?”

“I didn’t keep it,” Bitty said. “He just kind of asked me out? In line at Annie’s. And I didn’t want to have it be a thing if I said I just didn’t want to go out with him, because then he’d be all, ‘why not? What’s wrong with me?’ and I wanted to get my coffee, so I just said I was busy, and he offered his phone number, which I promptly lost.”

“Who is it, anyway?”

“Some cross country runner, Sean something,” Bitty said. “Ransom invited him to a party last fall.”

“Why didn’t you just say you had a boyfriend?”

“Because it’s none of his business,” Bitty said. “Besides, it’s not like I can tell him I’m dating you, and he won’t see me with anyone, so it’ll be like a made up some long-distance boyfriend. Anyway, I just ran into him on my way back to the Haus today and when he tried to ask me out again, I did what I should have done the first time and said I didn’t want to go out with him.”

“OK.”

“Well, I was practically in front of the Haus so all I had to do was say it and go inside,” Bitty said. “I didn’t know Dex saw. I’m sorry.”

That pulled Jack up short.

“Sorry? What for?”

“Not telling you I guess?” Bitty said. “I mean, maybe I should have, but I didn’t know he was at Spring C and it didn’t seem like a big deal, but you sound mad, so --”

_Merde._

“I’m not mad at you, Bits,” Jack said. “I promise. I’m mad that I can’t be there to hear about stuff when it happens, or walk around with you like any other boyfriend, or protect you if you do run into a real creep.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a little bit mad too, but not at you for any of that,” Bitty said. “I’m a little mad that nobody seems to think I can take care of myself here. I know if I really needed you, you’d come, and I know the whole team has my back, and that’s great, but maybe they should let me decide when I need help. I’m sorry you heard about this through the group chat, honey, but everything’s really OK right now.”

“Fine, Bits, I believe you,” Jack said. “I’m sorry you thought I was mad at you. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: The classes mentioned are based on real classes that I have either taken or found in various college and university course catalogues. The sociology of celebrity is offered at DePaul University in Chicago; the same school offers a course on gender, sex and social media. You can bet that if Samwell has a class like that, Bitty will take it as a senior.
> 
> Bitty’s drink and poutine are on the menu at Thee Red Fez in Providence.


	5. April 26-30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The playoffs continue. Bitty figure skates and makes friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, unebeta'd, so let me know if you find a problem.  
> Also, briefly NSFW for work, near the end of April 29.

April 26, Bitty 

Bitty wanted to spend Tuesday in the kitchen. Well, not all of it. He was happy to get an hour at Faber in the morning, to lace up his figure skates and glide across the ice. Figure skating -- leaving his mark on the clean white surface, alone and focused -- centered him in a way hockey never could.

During the season, it was nearly impossible to get ice time on his own. Between the team’s practices, the synchro team, a couple of local community teams and even the limited public skate hours, the ice was usually booked from 6 a.m. to midnight. Thus the 4 a.m. checking practices.

But now, with the hockey and synchro seasons over, and fewer students coming out for the open skating hours, he was able to find an hour once or twice a week, and he was enjoying the chance to stretch himself, mentally and physically, with figure skating moves he hadn’t done regularly for ages. He did twizzles and choctaws, a few waltz jumps to find his balance and then a toe loop or three.

Being alone on the ice, earbuds in to give him a rhythm, he felt freer than he had in … well, since last time he had a rink to himself. Sometimes he still wondered how far he could have gone if he hadn’t stopped -- “retired,” Katya said -- when he was 15. Could he have gone on to compete in seniors? Would he have a shot at the national level? International?

Probably not. Certainly not without leaving home, going to a serious training center. Michigan, maybe. He couldn’t have asked his parents to leave their lives in Georgia for his skating, and at the time, he couldn’t have imagined moving away on his own. Then, he never imagined leaving Georgia for college either.

It was far too late now to worry about that. He could enjoy playing around on the ice, dancing on his skates to the music in his head, but he’d never be a serious competitor again. Now he had hockey, which used some of his skills and came with the benefit of a team, a second family really. He loved hockey, he really did, and without hockey he wouldn’t be where he was, be who he was, now, but sometimes he missed the quiet of it being just him, leaving his marks in the ice.

He tried a loop, and then transitioned into a scratch spin. He could certainly do a layback, and maybe a Y-spin, but a Biellmann was probably out of the question now, at least without a lot of work on his flexibility.

When he came to rest, he saw Lardo standing at the door in the barrier.

He skated over and grabbed the water bottle he’d left there.

“That’s really amazing,” Lardo said. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just came to check on some of the equipment and I saw you skating. You ever think about doing it again?”

“Too late to do it seriously,” Bitty said. “But it feels good. Stretches you in different ways, you know?”

“Better than yoga?’ Lardo smiled.

“If I were figure skating for real, I’d be doing yoga a few times a week,” Bitty said. “And ballet. And maybe some modern or jazz. A lot of dance training goes into it.”

“Makes sense,” Lardo said. She smirked. “Jack must like to watch you skate.”

Bitty felt himself blush.

“He really hasn’t seen much since I was doing skating camp in Madison last summer,” he said. “Sometimes the skaters would record me and I’d send the videos to Jack.”

And Bitty had skated for Jack when he came to Madison, but that was for him to savor.

He shrugged.

“I guess he liked it,” he said.

“Your face tells a different story, Bits. I think he more than liked it.”

“Maybe,” Bitty said.

Would he be able to figure skate at all this summer? He was pretty sure he’d be able to tag along with Jack to the Falconers training center sometimes, but usually when he skated with Jack he defaulted to hockey gear. And would there be time for just him on the ice? He would understand if there wasn’t. The ice wasn’t his, wasn’t open to the public, wasn’t Jack’s to give out to his friends. Of course he would understand. But he would miss it.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of classes (what scheduling gods hated him enough to give him French and calculus not just the same semester, but the same day? Wait, that had been him when he shopped for classes in January) and baking.

Ransom wandered through the kitchen on his way back from D-hall, looked at the mess of flour and pans and mini pies cooling on the table and said, “Whoa, Bitty, are you all right? You’re going to Providence for the game tomorrow -- isn’t there some work you should be doing? Last week of classes, bro.”

Bitty harrumphed internally, but arranged his face into a smile. No need to infect Ransom with second-hand stress.

“I worked all day, and I needed a break,” Bitty said. “Besides, I wanted to get some things done for the team and their families. They’ve all been so welcoming, I really wanted to thank them. Besides, I can study on the train tomorrow. Or, you know, the shuttle and the train. It takes a while.”

“You’re going by yourself?” Ransom said. “Did you ask Shitty? I’m sure he’d drive you. Or Holster.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Bitty said. “It’s the end of the semester for everybody, and I don’t want to cut into anyone’s study time. I’ll study on the way there and back.”

“If you say so,” Ransom said. He was eyeing the cherry mini pies. “Can I have one? Or are they all spoken for?”

Bitty took an exaggerated look around the corner to make sure no one else was going to come claim a pie.

“I’m making more, so sure, go ahead,” he said. “But just one.” 

********************************************************

April 27, Jack

Jack dropped his keys in the bowl by the door and went directly to the bedroom. He kicked his shoes into the closet, shrugged out of his suit jacket and shucked the trousers, hanging both up. He paused to bend down and put his shoes on the rack, then unbuttoned his shirt and dumped it in the hamper.

That wasn’t the way this game was supposed to go. Sure, Jack expected some losses in the playoffs. No one was going to go 16-0.

But giving up three goals in the first period on the Falconers’ home ice? It wasn’t Snow’s fault, at least not all of it. Not by a long shot. The Islanders were a good team, but they’d made the Falconers look slow. It was embarrassing.

On top of that, Jack’s shoulder ached from where he’d been shoved into the boards and there was a bruise blooming across his back where he’d been cross-checked by de Haan.

It was 3-1 after the first. The rest of the game was better, but that was setting a low bar. In the second, with New York up by two, Jack had been called for interference, and Tavares had scored on the power play. Snow had been pulled for DuMont -- more a message to the rest of the team to wake up than anything else -- and Guy and Fitz had both scored, but so did Clutterbuck, and the margin never got closer than two. 

If they wanted to win this series and move on to the conference final, they’d have to play better than that.

Jack headed back to the kitchen in search of food. Bitty was there, grilling some kind of sandwiches. Chicken, it looked like, with tomatoes and pesto.

“How’re you feeling?” Bitty looked concerned as he placed a sandwich and a glass of water in front of Jack.

“Ehhh, all right, considering,” Jack said.

“Anything I can do?” Bitty asked, maybe hovering just a bit too close.

“No, I’m fine,” Jack said, taking another bite of his sandwich. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Not really hungry,” Bitty said. “Do you want this other sandwich? Or should I wrap it up and save it?”

“Suit yourself,” Jack said. “Do you still have homework to do? Because I’m going to watch some tape right now.”

“I was hoping you’d help with my French. We’re suppose to practice sounding like we’re just making conversation, for the oral exam.” Bitty made a face. “But you know how those things go, It’s always about the weather or something. If they asked about baking, or even ballet, I think I’d be fine.”

Jack sighed a little bit.

“I think it’s probably more about the grammar than the vocabulary,” he said, leaving his plate on the counter as he pushed himself away and headed for the living room.

He heard Bitty continue to move around the kitchen as he queued up video of tonight’s game. He should probably wait until he could get video from the team, to look at the strategic and tactical issues they focused on, but for now the TV recording would have to do. When he was done, he could look at the Nashville-Anaheim game seven from the first round that was played tonight as well.

He heard drawers in the kitchen open and close, then the fridge. Water ran for a few minuted in the sink as the game started on the screen.

Ugh. They definitely looked slow out of the gate. Maybe a little rusty from the long layoff after round one? Next game, they had to come out skating hard, and they had to be more responsible with the puck. They had home ice, so they had more control over matchups. He had some ideas on how to change that up he could share with the coaches.

The momentum was more even in the second period, until Jack’s penalty. He really hadn’t thought he’d interfered; he and Leddy had both been going for the puck. But seeing it from the perspective, well, he understood how it could look that way. He could have gotten the puck without skating in Prince’s path. Probably would have, too. It was a bonehead play on his part.

He responded to Bitty’s murmured good-night and sat through the third period, when the Falconers took charge of the play. They just weren’t able to get anything by Greiss, or not nearly enough anyway. Still it was something to build on.

By the time Jack set his notebook aside and turned off the TV, the heaviness of the late-night quiet had wrapped itself around the apartment. He rolled his shoulders and checked his phone for the time. 1:15. There were also several message notifications, from Shitty and his parents and some of the current SMH team, all upbeat and encouraging. He read them without responding.

The lights were off in the kitchen and the bedroom already. Jack let his eyes adjust for a second or two when he walked into the bedroom and felt inexplicably relieved when he saw a Bitty-shaped lump under the covers.

He stripped off his track pants and T-shirt and crawled into the other side of the bed in just his boxer briefs. He didn’t set an alarm; the coaches had asked the team to spend some time in the gym tomorrow, but there was nothing official scheduled.

He set his phone in the dock and lay down, not bothering to suppress a smile when Bitty rolled toward him and burrowed into his side. Jack brought his arms around Bitty gently, careful not to wake him, took a moment to be grateful that he had this, and fell asleep.

*************************************************** 

April 28, Bitty

Bitty was trying to be quiet as he gathered his things so as not to wake Jack.

He wasn’t sure how late Jack had stayed up studying video of the game he just played. It had been getting on for one o’clock when Bitty had finally shoved his flashcards and books away from him and called it a night. Jack had barely looked up when he said he was going to bed, so of course he would be tired.

With game two set for Saturday, the coaches wouldn’t have a practice today and Jack should sleep in. His body needed every bit of rest it could get. Bitty felt like his body could use some rest, too, but he had to make the 7:15 train to Boston to catch the bus to Samwell and have any hope of making it to French at 10:30. 

This was the last class of the semester, and if Mme. Gauthier was going to give any hints on how to pass the final, he wanted to be there to hear them.

But there was no reason for Jack to be up a mere what, five hours after going to bed, so Bitty was being quiet.

Until he dropped his calculus book trying to get it into his laptop bag and it crashed on the floor.

Well, fuck.

Bitty picked it up and tucked it in the bag with his computer, his notebook, his flashcards and the sandwich he’d made last night. That could be breakfast on the train. He’d left some fruit salad in the fridge for Jack, and set the coffeemaker to start at the push of a button. He wished he could leave a better breakfast, but Jack probably wanted something that was all protein. Egg white dishes didn’t reheat well, and Bitty simply refused to mix up one of his horrifying protein shakes. Jack could do that for himself.

After 30 seconds with no noise from Jack, Bitty decided he probably had slept through the clatter. He pulled his phone out to order a ride, then started to thumb in a text for Jack, trying to thank him for the hospitality, console him for the loss, and say he was looking forward to seeing him at the weekend, all in a few lines.

He was concentrating on his task when he heard Jack’s throat clear in the doorway.

“What’s up, Bits?” Jack looked confused. “Why are you up so early?”

“I’ve got to go, sweet pea,” Bitty said. “It’s the end of classes and I have to get back. But you need to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Bitty, it’s 6:40 in the morning,” Jack said. “You first class doesn’t start for like four hours. Come back to bed.”

“But that’s how long it’ll take me to get back,” Bitty said.

“No it won’t,” Jack said. “I’m driving you. If we leave after 9, when rush hour is pretty much over, it’s 45 minutes tops.”

“Oh, honey, I couldn’t ask that of you,” Bitty said. “You don’t need to take time to drive me back to school. I already ordered a Lyft.”

“Which would also get you there in 45 minutes,” Jack said. “I can afford it. I don’t see why you insist on taking the train and the bus.”

“Jack, I couldn’t do that,” Bitty said. “It’s too much. It’s enough that you let me use your account to get to the station.”

“It’s around $50 to get from here to Samwell,” Jack said. “I can afford it. But I’d rather drive you. I hardly saw you yesterday. So please come back to bed.”

It turned out that Jack really wanted to go back to sleep, which was actually fine with Bitty, since he was exhausted too. And there was something intimate about cuddling up together in Jack’s big bed, Jack’s face -- scratchy beard and all -- nuzzled into Bitty’s neck while Bitty played with his hair and they both drifted off until 9.

Then a quick shower, with equally quick hand jobs (“Oh my Lord, we are ridiculous!” Bitty giggled after they both came), breakfast and into Jack’s car.

“I was thinking,” Jack said.

(“Always dangerous,” Bitty wanted to say, but didn’t, because it wasn’t true, but Jack’s hesitation put him on edge.)

“I was thinking,” Jack started again, “that when you go back to Samwell this weekend, maybe you should just take the car? We’re in New York for the next two games, so I won’t be using it, and then it will be easier to get back here for you. You could even bring some of your stuff if you want.”

Bitty took a moment to think before he responded. It would be easier take Jack’s car, to just to drive himself, especially if the Falconers were leaving for New York on Sunday, and he had driven Jack’s car before, with and without Jack as a passenger. But he’d never kept it for more than an hour or two.

“But what if something happens? If there’s an accident or something? Your insurance probably won’t cover me,” he finally said. 

“It’ll be fine,” Jack said. “I can call and have you added, but I probably need your driver’s license number and stuff. It would be better for the summer if you could drive the car, too.”

“Will you tell me how much it costs extra?” Bitty said.

“No, because I’ll pay for it,” Jack said. “But it would be more convenient for me if you could take the car, eh?”

“I’m not sure how that works, but ok, since I’m pretty sure you’d go ahead and do it anyway,” Bitty said.

“Good,” Jack said. “I’ll call my agent and have her get it set up. You’ll probably get a call from her assistant -- I think her name’s Melissa -- to get the information they need.”

It really wasn’t a surprise that Jack had People to handle the administrative part of his life. But when Bitty was with him, it felt like he and Jack existed in a private bubble where none of that intruded. Even when Jack paid for things for Bitty, Bitty did the shopping and just asked Jack for his credit card when he needed it (and studiously did not remember the card number).

“Won’t she wonder why?” Bitty asked.

Jack shrugged. “Melanie -- my agent -- knows about us,” Jack said. “I’m sorry if I never said, but there are confidentiality agreements on top of confidentiality agreements. She needs to know just in case.”

Bitty didn’t have to ask “Just in case of what?”

Instead he said, “And Melissa?”

“She probably knows you’re a friend who’s staying for the summer. The rest isn’t really her business.”

***********************************************************************

April 29, Jack

Jack felt like his eyelids itched.

And the backs of his knees.

And the soles of his feet.

He knew he should be grateful for the extra day between games, grateful for the chance to rest, even grateful they were playing the Islanders and not the Panthers because travel would be so much less grueling.

But when practice ended and the team was dismissed early Friday afternoon, Jack didn’t know what to do with himself. He’d watched tape all Thursday afternoon and evening, and caught up on the other games; he’d gone for a run and spent time in the gym; he’d skated hard at practice. 

But now he had a long afternoon, without a game-day nap. Maybe he should have taken up video games.

Bitty would be here by dinner, though. Bitty would come and Bitty would cook and make him watch some ridiculous reality show and then they could go to bed early. Jack could get out of his apartment and prepare for Bitty at the same time.

First, he texted Bitty.

_What do you want to make for dinner? Can you send me a grocery list?_

Bitty texted back a link to a recipe for seared halibut with kale and carrot slaw.

_This is on the Nate-approved list you gave me and the ingredients will be easy to find._

It looked fairly simple. Wait, what was agave nectar?

_They’ll have it at any big supermarket,_ Bitty texted, _even Walmart._

Then Jack took his list and his camera and set out, photographing many of the same sites that he included in the Providence albums he sent Bitty last summer, before he visited. Some were too far for this afternoon’s walk, but he had a few days. He could use them, along with the original pictures, and some he’d snapped of Bitty on his visits, to make an album like the one Bitty had given Jack for his birthday in August. He wasn’t sure exactly when they could celebrate Bitty’s birthday -- the Falconers would be in New York on the day of-- but if he could pull the photos together while they were on the road, maybe he could do a rush order and get an album made soon. He’d have to send a gift on the day itself.

Two hours later, he was letting himself back into his apartment. He was pleasantly tired and no longer anxious, the extended walk having worked its magic. He set the groceries on the counter and took out his camera, finding the serendipitous shot of a Falconers’ banner along the riverwalk with a goose flying behind it.

He posted that Instagram with the caption #myprovidence, knowing his Samwell friends would get the joke.

After he drank a glass of water, he got to work, dicing the shallot, shredding carrots and slicing kale. He wanted to do as much prep work as he could before Bitty got there.

Then it was time to meet Bitty’s train.

Jack pulled up outside the station, slouched behind the wheel and watched for Bitty to exit the doors. When he came out, the evening sun glinted off his hair and he raised a hand to shade his eyes, looking for Jack and his black SUV.

The smile on his face when he found it warmed Jack from across the street.

Bitty jogged over, opened the passenger door, put his duffel in the back seat, and climbed in.

“Ready to go home, bud?” Jack asked.

“Sure thing,” Bitty said.

“I cut up the vegetables for dinner, so we should be ready to eat pretty fast,” Jack said. “I was thinking an early night?”

He glanced at Bitty, and he wasn’t sure what his face was doing, but it was enough to make Bitty blush.

“Seeing as it’s a day game tomorrow,” Jack said with a smirk.

Bitty gave a fake gasp and said, “Hush, you. We will have to be careful not to tire you out, though.”

Once they got upstairs, Bitty tossed together the ingredients for a blueberry crumble, almost without looking, Jack thought, then cooked the fish while it baked. They were done with dinner and cleaned up by 8:30.

“Want to watch something?” Jack asked. “‘The Amazing Race,’ or something like ‘The Bachelorette’?”

Bitty hung up his dishtowel and said, “No trashy TV tonight. I want to go to bed with you.”

Well, that was more direct than Bitty usually was. Especially when he’d only drunk water with dinner.

“I feel like I’ve hardly seen you lately,” Bitty explained, “for all we’ve been back and forth like ping-pong balls these last couple of weeks. I want to go to bed with you and touch you and kiss you and just make out with you for a while, and see where that takes us.”

“Sure,” Jack said. “OK.”

Where it took them was Bitty sucking Jack off while reaching deep inside to stroke his prostate, setting off the strongest orgasm in the history of orgasms. Maybe not, but it was hard to think straight after that.

Then Bitty straddled him, kneeling, and jerked himself until he came on Jack’s chest, and it should have been disgusting when Bitty dragged his fingers through the mess and slipped them in Jack’s mouth, but it wasn’t.

Then Jack dozed off, waking briefly to a warm washcloth wiping him down. The lights were off and Bitty was settled next to him by 10 p.m. 

*******************************************************************************

April 30, Bitty

Bitty sat in the family box and looked around.

He was there as a guest of Gabby St. Martin, sitting among wives and girlfriends and a smattering of parents.

“Are you sure this is OK?” he asked for the third time.

“It’s fine,” Gabby said. “If anyone who shouldn’t know asks, you’re my friend and sometimes babysitter, and you love hockey, so I decided to treat you to a game.”

“Wait -- I babysit for you?”

“I meant to ask, can you stay with the girls for a couple of hour tomorrow? Late afternoon? My friend planned a girls’ day out and Marty will already be gone and my regular sitter just told me she’s unavailable,” Gabby said.

“Of course,” Bitty said. “You don’t have to talk me into it. Your little ones are adorable.” 

“How much do you charge?” 

“Charge? Oh, you don’t have to pay me,” Bitty said.

“But I should,” Gabby said. “Aren’t you still a broke college kid? Is $15 an hour enough?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s well above the going rate, ma’am,” Bitty said. “And you got me in here.”

“Please, I am not a ma’am,” Gabby said, “and we both know you could get in here on your own.”

“Gabby, then. Can I ask you something? You can tell me it’s none of my business.”

“Sure, Eric, what’s up?” 

“What do you do after a big loss?” he asked. “I mean, how do help Marty deal with it?”

“Jack was pretty upset Wednesday, huh?”

Bitty shrugged.

“Not mad or anything,” he said. “Just real quiet.”

“Marty did that more when he was younger,” Gabby said. “Now that we have the girls, well, he pretty much has to be over it by the time they get up the next morning. I usually just try to kind of be around, without smothering, you know? I mean, I know they play a game and get paid well for it, but there’s so much pressure on all of them. And Jack’s a special case, yes?”

The game started and they settled in.

The Islanders came out shooting again, but this time, the Falconers were right with them and scored first on a feed from Guy to Marty. Poots got his first playoff goal later in the first, and the period ended with a 2-1 Falconers lead.

Then Jack scored on a power play in the second, and the Falconers never looked back. The Islanders had only eight more shots on goal the rest of the game, and Johnston scored an empty-netter, and game two was in the books.

Bitty walked with Gabby through the corridors to wait outside the dressing room. It took a little longer than normal, but finally the team emerged. Marty came out before Jack emerged with Tater, who immediately swept Bitty into a hug and lifted him off his feet.

“B!” he said. “So good to see you!”

“Thanks, Tater! Good game!” Bitty said. “Jack’ll have a bunch of mini-pies on the plane tomorrow.”

“Thanks, B! But you know you don’t have to bring food every time, right?” Tater said.

“But I want to!” Bitty protested.

“Really, good luck stopping him, Tater,” Jack said. “It’s better just to let it happen.”

“In that case, I take you out for dinner,” Tater said. “Both of you. I know best place.”

Jack looked at Bitty, who shrugged and nodded.

“Sure, we’ll get dinner with you,” Jack said. “Where do you want to go?”

“Steak place, by the water.”

“Great, we’ll meet you there,” Jack said. 

In the car, he took Bitty’s hand and said, “You sure you want to go? Tater tends to attract lots of attention.”

Bitty nodded again.

“As long as you’re OK with it,” he said, “He gets attention, we’re just the audience. But he’s fun and he’s nice and I think we could do with getting out.”

The steak place was old-fashioned looking and masculine, with dark carpet and drapes and leather chairs. It was amazing how much Tater could eat, even to Bitty, who lived in a house full of hockey players. But he noticed that Tater’s and Jack’s meals were mostly lean meat and vegetables.

Bitty’s steak was much smaller, and he went for the creamed spinach.

Tater went on and on about Bitty’s food and Bitty’s hockey.

“What’s it like, going to American college?” he asked. “I see movies about it. Is it as fun as it looks?”

That started Bitty off on Ransom and Holster and their legendary parties.

“You know, they’re D-men too,” Bitty said. “They’d love to meet you.”

At the end of the meal, Jack clasped Tater’s hand and slapped his shoulder. Tater demanded Bitty’s phone to add his number -- “You text me, then I call you directly” -- and then swept Bitty into another embrace.

“See you when we’re back from New York, yes?” he said.

“Of course,” Bitty said, “Tell me, what kind of jam do you like? I should be making some soon.”

Before they got back to Jack’s apartment, Bitty’s phone buzzed with a notification. Tater had posted a selfie he took at dinner with Bitty, captioned #dinnerwithfriends.

“I think Tater and I are friends now,” Bitty said to Jack.

Jack snorted.

“Of course you are.” Jack said. “He loves you. So does the rest of the team.”

“Good thing I love you then,” Bitty said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the recipe that Jack and Bitty make: http://www.mensfitness.com/nutrition/what-to-eat/nhl-diet-eat-like-a-stanley-cup-champ


	6. May 2-6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Playoffs continue; Bitty has a birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I'm back with a new chapter. Still don't own anything from OMGCP, still not beta'd, so let me know if I need to fix something.

May 2, Jack

Jack stood in the lobby, bag slung over his shoulder, and watched for Tater’s huge SUV to pull up.

He usually drove himself to the airport and left his car in the secure lot the Falconers’ charter service provided, but Bitty had taken the car back to Samwell the night before.

That was fine. It was good for Bitty to have wheels at his disposal, especially since it was reading week and he’d have to come up Wednesday for the meeting about his internship. Then he could pick up Jack when he came back.

No, no he couldn’t. It would be in the wee hours of the morning after Friday’s game, and Jack couldn’t ask him to pick him up in the middle of the night, especially not when Bitty was supposed to be studying. One of the guys would be able to drop him off.

It had been strange to watch Bitty pull out of the garage in Jack’s car the night before. Up until now, Jack was always the one who drove away. Bitty might hop out of the car at the train station, or go downstairs to get his rideshare, but there was something different about watching him climb into the driver’s seat, start the engine and leave with just a little wave. Rationally, Jack knew it was good for Bitty to keep the car while Jack was out of town. But he could admit that seeing Bitty leave like that didn’t feel good. Was that how Bitty felt every time Jack left him? When Jack graduated and Bitty didn’t seem to think they’d stay close?

Jack shook his head, trying to free himself from his maudlin thoughts. Of course Jack had to drive away. They lived in different cities, and he had the car. And before he left after graduation, he found Bitty and made it clear that he wanted more than friendship. Despite the distance, they’d become closer than ever that summer.

Tater pulled up, and Jack climbed in the car.

“Really, Tater?” Jack said. “You live by yourself. What possible use could you have for a vehicle this big?”

“I’m big man, need big car, Zimmboni,” Tater said.

“You know what they say about guys with big cars,” Jack chirped. “Gotta be compensating for something.”

“You think car is substitute for dick?” Tater said. “Then you just let your boyfriend drive off with yours.”

Jack just chuckled. “Couldn’t be in better hands,” he said. “And that’s all I’ll say about that.”

“Whatever you say,” Tater said. “Why don’t you buy him his own car? You can afford it. Didn’t you say he had birthday coming up?”

“Believe me, I’d be happy to,” Jack said. “I’ve offered, but he always laughs it off like it’s ridiculous. I’m not sure he’d take it well. He wants to support himself.”

“So no car, what are you doing for his birthday?”

“Probably Skyping him from my hotel room in New York,” Jack said. “His birthday’s Thursday and we have a game Friday.”

“You want us to help you sneak out?” Tater said. “We get B to New York, you get out for date? Me, Poots, Snowy, we’ll cover for you.”

“No, Tater,” Jack said. “It’s the playoffs. And next week is finals for Bitty. We’ll celebrate when we can celebrate.”

“You sure? B only turns 21 once,” Tater said.

“And I’m sure he’ll have a good time with the guys at Samwell,” Jack said. “We’ll live. If we’re lucky, I’ll be busy on his birthday for the next several years.”

“”What do you say here? Knock wood?” Tater reached over and tried to rap his knuckles on Jack’s forehead.

“Just drive, Tater,” Jack said.

Once he buckled his seat belt for the quick flight to New York, Jack read through the notes he’d made on his phone for the photo book he was going to make for Bitty. It would include some of the pictures from his senior year photo class -- the one of Bitty with flour smudged on his face was one of Jack’s favorites, as was the one of Bitty and Shitty leaning out the Haus window.

There were photos of some of their favorite places in Providence, from Hemenway’s, where they ate with his parents for Jack’s birthday last year, to Clean Plate, where Bitty liked to go for brunch.

There were photos of their teammates -- from Samwell and the Falconers -- at Waterfire, on different nights, and pictures from the gardens at the John Brown House and from their usual running route along the river. Bitty featured in about half; only a handful included geese.

If he could get these to Maman, she would get a book put together and ready as soon as they could celebrate. With any luck, he’d have an off-day or two at home when Bitty’s finals ended. And then they could celebrate Bitty moving to Providence as well. 

***********************************

May 3, Bitty

This was a luxury Bitty couldn’t afford to get used to.

He’d run out of butter (it was reading week; of course he’d run out of butter). Instead of either having to cadge a ride to the store with Holster or Dex, or walking to Murder Stop and Shop, he just pocketed Jack’s keys and took himself to the store. And if he bought 20 pounds of potatoes and 10 pounds each of flour and apples, well, when else would he have this opportunity?

Well, every time he was with Jack. Jack would take him to the store willingly, and wouldn’t chirp him -- much -- for buying ingredients in large quantities. But to be able to drive himself to the store, with no notice, and bring home as much as he wanted? That was hashtag lifegoals.

He’d driven the car on Sunday with Jack, over to the St. Martin’s. With the team not leaving until Monday morning, Gabby didn’t really need a babysitter for her girls’ day out, but Bitty ended up hanging out with them for a couple of hours while Marty and Jack talked strategy for the rest of the series.

Jack had handed him the keys when they left the condo, saying, “It’s all yours until I get back.”

Bitty wasn’t even nervous anymore driving Jack’s car with Jack in it. Truth be told, he thought he enjoyed driving more than Jack did, and as a result, he was probably better at it. Some of his best times in high school had been when he could take the truck out and just drive, blasting Beyonce into the night sky as he traversed the otherwise empty country roads. Jack had spent his teenage years being driven, on buses and in cars, not driving himself. But he had made a good choice when it came to buying a vehicle. Not too big, but big enough to carry all the cargo they needed.

Marty and Gabby’s daughters were precious. Michelle, 7, got very involved in decorating the flower-shaped cookies Bitty brought with him; Genevieve, 5, tried to see how many sprinkles she could load on each of her cookies.

“Papa’s leaving tomorrow,” Michelle informed him seriously. “He has to go play hockey in New York. That means just Maman and Chantelle will take care of us.”

“That’s all right, sweetheart,” Bitty told her. “Your Papa will be back on Friday. That’s not so long.”

“But he’s going to miss my spring concert at school,” Michelle told him. “It’s Wednesday night, and he said he couldn’t come.”

“I’m sure he wishes he could, Michelle, and your mama will be there, won’t she?” Bitty asked.

Michelle nodded. “And Chantelle. She babysits us when Papa can’t.”

“Tell me about the concert,” Bitty said.

“Every class has a song, and they’re all about animals,” Michelle said. “My class is singing a song about bunnies. And I have my own line.”

“Is your class in the concert too, Geneviève?” Bitty asked.

Geneviève nodded.

“Do you know what you’re singing?” 

She launched into a rendition of Old MacDonald, and Bitty and Michelle joined in, becoming more and more raucous with the animal noises. They were working their way through cows, horses, pigs, ducks, chickens and sheep when Jack and Marty wandered into the kitchen.

“Practicing for the concert, chérie?” Marty asked. “I’ll be sad to miss it, but Maman promised to record it and send it to me.”

“It’s not the same,” Michelle said. “I wish you were coming.”

“Can you come, Mr. Bitty?” Geneviève said. “I get to be a pig.”

“Well, I’m sure you make a lovely pig,” Bitty said. 

“You could come and see,” Geneviève said.

“Tell you what,” Bitty said. “Let me ask your mama and see if it’s OK with her.”

“Bits, you’re supposed to be studying,” Jack said.

“And I will,” Bitty said, “But I have to be in Providence that afternoon anyway. I can hang out at your place for a few hours and study there. Even bring in the mail.”

“You can always hang at the condo, Bitty,” Jack said. “You know that.”

So that was the plan for Wednesday. Bitty would drive up to Providence, meet with Jacqui, go to Jack’s to study, then meet the St. Martin’s for dinner before the concert. He made sure to save a half-dozen of Tuesday’s mini-pies for them before putting the rest of the baked goods on a platter for team to watch Jack’s game.

When it came to it, Bitty could hardly watch. The Islanders took an early lead, and the Falconers were playing catch-up the whole game. The Falconers pulled Snowy when they were down by a goal with two minutes left, and Bitty peered through the fingers he had covering his eyes. Everyone knew it was more likely that the Islanders would score on the empty net than that the Falconers would tie it … until that’s what they did, with Poots putting it in off a feed from Marty (and what were those two even doing out on the same line?)

After that, it took only a minute of overtime for Tater to blast a slapshot from the top of the circle, and the game was over. The Falconers had a 2-1 series lead.

Bitty pulled his phone out and texted, _Good game, sweet pea. Call me whenever you get a chance. I’ll wait up._

*************************************

May 4, Jack

Jack let himself back into his hotel room after lunch and opened the his laptop. Most of the guys were hanging out in Poots room playing video games or in Thirdy’s, talking about whatever old guys with families talked about. He begged off both groups, saying he wanted a nap and had some things to do anyway. 

“That include Skyping your boy?” Marty asked. 

“No, we talked last night before bed,” Jack said. “And he had a thing with his boss for his internship, remember? He’ll be in Providence to go to the school concert.”

“That's right,” Marty said. “Tell him thanks for me. The girls have really taken to him, and that includes Gabby.”

No, Jack was searching for an email from Suzanne. The idea struck him last night -- last year Bits hadn't had a birthday cake at all. When he saw the new oven, he made pie. If Jack could have a cake delivered this year, then he could still be part of the celebration. At least a little bit. And Suzanne would know exactly what kind of cake Bitty liked.

He'd emailed in the morning before practice, and she had responded with a recipe for something called a Lane Cake, that had fluffy white frosting and peach filling.

 _It's especially appropriate for a 21st birthday because of all the liquor in it,_ Suzanne wrote. _When Dicky was a little boy and his MooMaw made it, I'd only let him have a sliver._

Jack clicked on the recipe and _crisse,_ was that a half-cup of bourbon _and_ a half-cup of peach schnapps? 

Suzanne's email continued: _They say the alcohol cooks off, but you never know. Also, the filling and layers need to chill overnight, so make sure you account for that. Good luck!_

 _Merde._ Jack didn't know anyone in Samwell who could bake this cake on such short notice. He picked up his phone.

“Lardo, I need a huge favor. You handle the catering for the banquet, right? Do you know any bakeries -- or bakers, I guess -- who could make a cake for Bitty tomorrow? His mom just sent the recipe, and it has to sit overnight, so they'd have to start today.”

“You'll ask around? Thanks. I'll send you the recipe. Don't worry about a rush charge.”

After he got off the phone with Lardo, he called his mother.

“Maman, did you get the photos I sent you?” Jack said. “Could you make them into a book for Bitty? I want to do something like he did for my birthday.”

“I know, but could you see me in my hotel room with scrapbook paper and a glue stick and special scissors? I'd make a mess of if. You know I would.”

“The pictures? Yes, I took them. All of them. The first ones are from Sanwell, before we were dating. It's funny -- I think everyone who saw my photo project knew I was in love before I did.”

“Some of those are places I photographed in Providence before Bitty came up last summer. I wanted to show him the city. Some are places we like to go now. And I tried to include some of our friends. It’s supposed to kind of tell the story of the last year or so, I guess. Of how I went from having a crush on him -- we went from having crushes on each other -- to what we are now.”

“ _Ouais_ , Maman, we are a couple in love. Why do you make me say it?”

“You think it’s missing something? What?”

“Someone?”

“I'm not in the pictures because I took them.”

“No, I'm not trying to be a hoity-toity artist. I just didn't think. You're right, I’d rather look at Eric than myself. He'd probably want to look at me.”

He sighed. Now she was just teasing.

“Yes, Maman, I have heard of a selfie. And I have a few with me and Eric on my phone. Yes, I'll send them.”

After they hung up, Jack opened the photos folder on his phone and scrolled through. There was one in front of the little Christmas tree in the condo, and another from family skate. 

There was one from the night he kissed the ice at Faber last spring. That was the first with him and Bitty together. 

And one with Bitty and his parents from last Fourth of July.

None of them were in any way suggestive; any of them could be photos of a couple of friends. But so many together made it clear that he and Bits were important to each other.

Well, Maman knew that already. So did everyone Bitty lived with. It would be fine.

He sent the photos to his mother.

An hour later, there was a text from Lardo.

_Found someone. She works at the bakery on Drake, but she'll do it at home. I'll pick it up tomorrow in time for Bits’ birthday dinner. She says $100 for the rush job, plus ingredients. I have to buy the bourbon and the schnapps bc she's underage._

_Done_ , Jack texted back. _Can I venmo the money to you and you pay her? Make it $200._

That taken care of, he took his nap.

**********************************

May 5, Bitty

Bitty drove from Providence to Samwell first thing Thursday morning.

He’d woken up alone in Jack’s bed on his birthday, and for a moment, he wished he had driven all the way home the night before.

But by the time the school concert was over, and he went back to the St. Martin’s for dessert, he hadn’t wanted to make the drive all the way back to Samwell. Jack had said he was welcome at the condo any time, whether Jack was there or not. He really wouldn’t mind, Bitty thought.

Maybe Jack wouldn’t mind, but somehow waking up alone in Providence made Bitty feel Jack’s absence more keenly. 

“Happy birthday to me,” Bitty said, deciding to make the best of it. He swiped his phone open to take a selfie to send to Jack -- nothing explicit; the sheets and the direction of the light through the window would tell Jack exactly where he was.

He couldn’t think of a caption that didn’t sound like he was feeling sorry for himself or blaming Jack for missing his birthday.

He responded to happy birthday texts from his mom and dad, and grinned at a text from Gabby.

_Thanks so much for last night. The girls adore you!_

Then he showered and dressed and headed to the car. He could stop at Starbucks on the way to Samwell.

Before he set the phone down in the car, a notification from Jack popped up.

_Happy birthday. Wish I was there._

Bitty smiled and headed out.

He used the time on the drive to think over the meeting with Jacqui. He’d started by filling out paperwork so he would be ready to go when he started, then Jacqui had gone over his responsibilities. They apparently did not include actually fetching coffee -- there was a communal coffee pot in the office that everyone was welcome to use, although Jacqui said it wasn’t very good.

His duties did include making copies and carrying messages. But they would also include posting to social media for the hospital; creating content, both text and video; for the website; and helping to set up visits for donors and local celebrities.

“I also like the idea of helping some of our patients make their own videos,” Jacqui said. “I shared it with the director of child life, and she said it could be really helpful for the kids to express themselves that way. I think we’re going to try a pilot program and see how it goes. What I need from you is a proposal for it.”

The proposal, she explained, should include the goals of the program, any equipment that would be needed, and how Bitty thought it would work. 

“We’ll run it by the child-life specialists and by legal,” Jacqui said. “It doesn’t have to be anything formal. Now, I understand you’re heading into finals, so I don’t need it immediately, but it would be good if you could have it for us before you start on the 31st.”

“Of course,” Bitty had said. Maybe Holster could help him.

He got back to Samwell just in time for an 11 o’clock meeting with a calculus study group, spending the next hour and a half working through a problem set on topics the teaching assistant had all but guaranteed would be on the exam. He planned to spend much of the afternoon at Founder’s, preparing answers for some of the 20 (20!) essay questions the professor had said might be on the final. There was a special circle of hell, Bitty thought, for professors who gave out 20 possible essay questions for a test that would likely include no more than three.

But first he was going to go to the Haus and make himself a decent lunch. It was his birthday, after all.

The first thing he saw when he walked into the kitchen was Betsy 2.0. He remembered last year, when the whole Haus conspired to keep him from coming home too soon, and Jack pretended he forgot his birthday to preserve the surprise, and then he ended up crying on Jack’s chest, which had felt so good against his cheek.

He’d made pie then; he’d make pie again. The studying could wait a bit.

Bitty was rolling out the crust when Dex came in, carrying two bags of groceries. 

“Hey, Bitty,” Dex said. “I was going to make grilled ham and cheese. Want one?”

“Sounds good,” Bitty said. “Thanks.”

They worked next to each other companionably while Dex chatted about his classes and the study schedule he made. When the sandwiches were done, Dex plated them and said, “Ready to take a break?”

“Let me just pop this oven and I’ll be right there,” Bitty said.

“You’re kind of quiet today,” Dex said. “Having a good birthday?”

“It’s fine,” Bitty said. “Just, you know, I’m too old to spend all day celebrating.”

“And Jack’s not here?”

“That too,” Bitty acknowledged.

“Well, I know Ransom and Holster have a whole thing planned for tonight, so you’ll get to celebrate at least.”

“Not a kegster,” Bitty said. “Please not a kegster.”

“Nah,” Dex said. “I think they’re getting Mexican food in for dinner, and making margaritas. They invited basically just the team.”

“Basically?”

“Well, the team and Farmer and Ford,” Dex said. “Maybe a couple of the other volleyball girls.”

“Ford is part of the team now,” Bitty said. 

“I know,” Dex said. “I'm just in denial.”

“Then I should probably make a cake,” Bitty said.

“Um, maybe I wasn't supposed to say anything, but I'm pretty sure Lardo has that covered,” Dex said.

“Fine,” Bitty said. “I guess I have no excuse. I'll study when the pie is done.”

*********************************

May 6, Jack

Jack had done his best to participate in Bitty’s birthday.

Lardo had picked up and delivered the cake as promised, and brought her laptop to the dining room to Skype him in for the dinner that looked like it included burritos, tacos and lots of chips and guacamole.

Ransom and Holster had declared margaritas the drink of the night (“It’s Cinco de Mayo, of course we’re going Mexican!” Holster had declared.) At dinner, Jack noticed that Bits was drinking at least as much water as margarita, a decision he silently applauded.

Then Lardo brought in the cake, threatening to set off the smoke alarm with the full 21 candles lit, Bitty had screwed up his face in concentration to make a wish (What did he wish for? Was it the same thing Jack would have wished for?) and blew out all the candle in one breath … prompting a series of chirps directed at Jack about how it must be nice to have a boyfriend who could blow like that.

Fortunately, Bitty missed most of that, having gone to the kitchen to get more plates for the girls on the volleyball team who had just come in.

Then Ransom turned the music up, and most people forgot that Jack was still on Skype.

Bits would look at him every couple of minutes, and go on about the cake (“Fancy a northerner like you knowing about Lane cake!” “I asked your mother.” “You are the sweetest!”), and tell him who else was there, and what goofy things were happening. As far as Jack knew, the limbo was not a Cinco de Mayo tradition, as Ransom claimed.

The guys kept pulling Bitty away from the computer to dance, and at one point, Jack got an eyeful of Bitty dancing to “Partition” sandwiched between his former captains. It didn’t mean anything, Jack knew that. He’d seen Bitty dance that way, with his teammates any number of times. Bitty had even told him he usually only danced like that at Haus partied because he felt safe there. The team knew he was just blowing off steam, and would have his back if anyone tried to push it any further.

But seeing Holster’s hands on Bitty, and Bitty’s hands on Ransom … Jack couldn’t help it. He was jealous. It was different when he was there, somehow. Then, even if Bitty wasn’t dancing with him, because Jack didn’t dance that way, not with anyone, not in any place where a cell phone pic could be taken and posted to the internet, it was like Bitty was dancing for him, in a way, because Bitty would end up going upstairs with him.

And of course, Bitty danced at Haus parties when Jack wasn’t there, but what he didn’t see wouldn’t hurt him. 

The song ended and Bitty made his way to where the laptop sat at the end of the dining room table, flushed and a little sweaty. The margaritas -- how many had he had by now? -- were starting to have their effect, and _crisse_ , did Jack love little-bit-drunk Bitty. His accent dripped with honey, and when Jack got him alone, he would say the filthiest things in the sweetest voice.

“How you doin’ there, sweet pea?” Bitty asked him, peering at the laptop screen. “This must be so boring for you.”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “I spend a lot of time at parties holding up the wall.”

“I wish you were here now,” Bitty said. “I’d get you to dance with me. Even if we had to put on some of your old man music. Or we could take it upstairs. What d’you think? Would you dance with me for my birthday?”

“Absolutely,” Jack said.

“Next time we’re together, OK?” Bitty said. “This weekend? Even if it’s just in your living room. Promise?”

“I promise,” Jack said.

But that was yesterday. Today Jack had a hockey game to win. If they won today, that would give them a 3-1 lead, and while no one wanted to jinx the team, it was unlikely the Islanders would come back.

Unfortunately, the Islanders had other ideas. Snowy was brilliant, stopping nearly everything. He allowed only a power-play goal by Kyle Okposo in the first period. In that period alone, the Islanders outshot the Falconers 16-6.

The rest of the game was more even, but the Falconers couldn’t solve Greiss. They trailed 1-0 into the third. Then suddenly Jack found the puck coming toward him, a feed from behind the net, a perfect pass from Fitz, and a clear lane on the net. He tied it up to give them a chance.

And the Falconers converted on it again, just 1:34 into overtime, with a shot from Thirdy that had eyes, passing between Greiss’ glove and shoulder.

Jack didn’t feel so much jubilant as relieved after the game. The last two games, the Islanders had come out with everything they had, and held the advantage for most of the game. But the Falconers had come through when it counted and stolen the victories. Now they could close it out at home. 

That meant Maman and Papa would probably come. That was OK. The game was set for Sunday afternoon. With any luck, they wouldn’t arrive until Saturday afternoon (maybe late afternoon?) at the earliest.

If Bitty drove up Saturday morning, they’d at least get a few hours alone together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Jack drives an [Audi Q5](https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http%3A%2F%2Fpictures.dealer.com%2Fv%2Fvalentiaudiaoa%2F0646%2Fc5797822a38497d06fcb58854c754689x.jpg&imgrefurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.valentiaudi.com%2Fnew-audi-q5.htm&docid=DoJpoc6_1_R_aM&tbnid=i7GV_U6e32COsM%3A&vet=10ahUKEwjk3LqA4YfVAhVDXD4KHd5ECwMQMwg5KAQwBA..i&w=1137&h=354&bih=643&biw=1342&q=audi%20q5%202017%20black&ved=0ahUKEwjk3LqA4YfVAhVDXD4KHd5ECwMQMwg5KAQwBA&iact=mrc&uact=8)
> 
> Tater drives a [Lincoln Navigator ](https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=imgres&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwj2rYy144fVAhXMaz4KHcBBDSMQjRwIBw&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.autoblog.com%2Fbuy%2F2017-Lincoln-Navigator%2F&psig=AFQjCNGZjb-__R4hkBu69IF_bR_XerVoRg&ust=1500087464152920)
> 
> [Lane Cake](http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/the-lane-cake%22) recipe from Southern Living


	7. May 7-11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty has finals; playoffs continue. It's hard to spend enough time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff, because I seem incapable of writing anything else these days.  
> There's a brief NSFW section at the end of May 7. If you want to skip it, stop where Bitty suggests that Jack find something better to do with his mouth, and pick up with the beginning of May 8.  
> Also, I never said this before, but real hockey players are mentioned, doing hockey things, and almost always things they have done in games (scoring goals, blocking shots ... literal hockey stuff).  
> And if the French conversation at the end sounds stilted, it should ... but if anything's actually wrong, please let me know. Tell me about any other errors as well and I'll be forever grateful.  
> As always, not my sandbox. I'm just playing in it.

May 7, Bitty

Bitty left the three boxes of belongings he’d brought with him in Jack’s car when he pulled into the garage. He did bring the maple apple and pecan pies in their carrier.

When the elevator doors opened on Jack’s floor, he approached Jack’s door, put the pies down and took the keys from his pocket, using them to unlock the door as quietly as possible.

If Jack was still sleeping -- and he should be, even this late, after getting home sometime around 2 a.m., and no doubt spending an hour or so having a snack and winding down -- Bitty didn’t want to wake him.

But when he opened the door, it was to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sound of something sizzling in a skillet.

“Hi, honey, I’m home,” Bitty called out, grinning at the domesticity of it all. As though he would be the breadwinner coming home from a hard day at the office to find Jack making dinner. The thought was laughable.

Jack poked his head out from the kitchen and said, “Hope you’re hungry. I’m making a mostly egg white omelet with turkey, spinach and a little Gruyere cheese. Coffee’s ready, and you can do the toast. Do those pies need to go into the fridge?”

“No, they’ll keep until this evening just fine on the counter.”

“Bits, I can’t eat pie tonight,” Jack said.

“They’re not for you, sugar,” Bitty said. “They’re for your parents. Although I wouldn’t mind if either of them wanted to share … and if you win tomorrow, you can have a slice after the game, Mr. Zimmermann.”

“But what if they’re all gone by then?” Jack said, trying but not quite succeeding at making a pouty face.

“Then I’ll make you your very own pie. Now are you going to add the eggs before the spinach burns or am I taking over?”

“I got it, I got it,” Jack said. 

Bitty pulled his own multi-grain bread from the freezer and took out four slices to put in the toaster, then set the table with plates, cups, cutlery, butter and jam, and -- with a shudder -- sriracha. 

“I always thought that was just Ransom and Holster,” Bitty said.

Jack shrugged apologetically.

“What can I say? I got used to it,” he said, pulling the skillet off the burner and cutting the omelet in two before snipping a little fresh basil over it.

“Look at you,” Bitty said. “If this hockey thing doesn’t work out, you could always take up cooking.”

“Think I’ll take my chances on the ice, Bits.”

“So how long before your parents get here?”

“Maman said their flight lands at about 5, and they’ll pick up dinner on the way and be here around 6,” Jack said.

“So I’ve got you all to myself for the next eight hours?”

Jack made a face.

“Not quite. There’s a team meeting this afternoon, and I’m supposed to get a light workout in,” Jack said. “And you have to study.”

“But not yet?” Bitty said hopefully.

“Not yet,” Jack confirmed. “I have to be at the practice facility at 2.”

“Good,” Bitty said. “Because I’m pretty sure you promised me a dance.”

“Dishes first,” Jack said. 

“Ja-ack,” Bitty said. “I can do them after you leave.”

“Nope,” Jack said. “You always tell the team that dishes are to be washed and put away after every meal.”

“Fine,” Bitty said, pulling out his phone and connecting it to the speaker. The playlist he chose was more lazy Saturday morning than hot Friday night.

Jack was placing the last plate in the cabinet when Ray Charles’ voice came through the speaker, singing “Georgia, sweet Georgia …”

Jack sang softly along, and Bitty was overcome with the memory of hearing Jack sing this in his room months before Bitty had any idea that this was even a possibility.

Jack put the towel on his counter and opened his arms and Bitty stepped into them. They swayed in place, Bitty’s face tucked into Jack’s shoulder, Jack’s face pressed into Bitty’s hair, until the song was over.

“I know it’s 10:15 in the morning,” Jack said. “But are you ready for bed? Because I am.”

Bitty turned his face up and stood on tiptoe to press a kiss to Jack’s mouth.

“More than ready,” he said. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I wanted to be there for your birthday.”

“Hush you,” Bitty said. “None of that. I understand. Just let’s go to bed now, and you can find something better to with that mouth of yours.”

In the end, it was Bitty’s mouth on Jack first, trailing down his neck, his chest, his abdomen. He circled Jack’s cock with his tongue and teased until Jack used his mouth to say, “Bits, please.”

Then he sucked firm and fast, the way he’d learned Jack liked it, until Jack came.

He was ready to take care of himself then, but Jack said, “Just give me a moment. Let me taste you too. I want to.”

After Bitty came, his abs curling and pulling his head and shoulders off the bed, his fingers tightening in Jack’s hair, Jack fetched a cloth from the bathroom, wiped them down, and dropped it on the floor. Within minutes, both of them were sound asleep, wrapped around each other.

**********************************

May 8, Jack

Jack was the first one up by an hour at least, and when he heard footsteps coming down the hall to the kitchen, it was his father.

“You’re up early,” Papa said.

Jack nodded, and sipped at his water.

“Woke up when I’d usually go for a run,” Jack said. “Couldn’t go back to sleep. Day games mess everything up.”

“Everything?” his father cocked an eyebrow. “At least you’ll be able to drive Eric home tonight. And get out from under the eyes of your nosy parents..”

“I know,” Jack said, and sighed.

That was another thing. Bitty had to go home tonight -- his French final was at 9 a.m. tomorrow, and if Jack was a better boyfriend, he wouldn’t have even asked him to come this weekend. 

But his parents were being very understanding about Bitty being there.

“Besides, what do you mean, nosy?” he said. “You weren’t even planning to stay here.”

The evening before, when Jack got back from his workout and Bitty was buried in his laptop, headphones on, mangling Jack’s first language, his parents had arrived bearing food and wine.

They’d planned to eat in, because Jack wasn’t going to go out without Bits, but a foursome of him, Bitty and his parents could attract attention, especially in the middle of the playoffs. Jack also didn’t want Bitty to spend the day cooking when he should be studying, and Jack knew his boyfriend would pull out all the stops for his parents.

So when Maman and Papa appeared in the doorway laden with paper bags of food purchased from the high-end Italian place down the way, it took Jack a moment to notice the lack of luggage.

First, he noticed the wine.

“You know I can’t drink any of that tonight,” he said.

“It’s not for you,” Maman said, dropping a kiss on his cheek on her way embrace Bitty. “Happy birthday, Eric. Now we can give you this legally, even here in the States.”

Bitty had pinked up, taken the bottle and then reached out to grab one of the bags his father was carrying.

“Y’all shouldn’t have,” he said. “But thank you. There’s a pecan pie in the kitchen with your name on it, Alicia, and a maple-apple pie for you, Bob.”

Jack finally noticed what he wasn’t seeing.

“You want me to go to the car to get your bags?” he said, because he could see how they would be too much to carry.

His parents exchanged a look.

“Uh, we weren’t planning to stay here,” Maman said. “We thought you might want some privacy. We have a hotel reservation.”

Bitty’s Southern hospitality burst out before Jack could even react.

“Of course you’re staying here,” he said. “If it’s a concern, I’ll leave, but I won’t let you be put out of your son’s home. I freshened the guest room just this afternoon.”

“No concern here,” Bob said. “We just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

The thing was, Jack was pretty sure Bitty was at least a little uncomfortable, even though they’d shared a (very small) bed at his parents’ house. But he carried it off well.

“I’d be a lot more uncomfortable knowing you were in a hotel across town,” Bitty said.

“Then I’ll go get your bags,” Jack said.

“And I’ll get this food plated,” Bitty said. “Y’all make yourself comfortable after the flight.”

His parents _had_ stayed in a hotel when they came for his birthday this summer, he knew, and he’d been grateful, because the thing with Bitty was still new, and Bitty was a little skittish around his family. But he’d just assumed they’d take the guest room this time. Why have a guest room if guests didn’t sleep in it?

The evening had been pleasant and relaxing. Bitty opened his photo book and exclaimed over the pictures, much as Jack had done when he opened the book Bitty made him over the summer. Only Bitty used far more words to express his enthusiasm than Jack had, and Jack’s mother already had copies of all the pictures she wanted.

They’d all gone to bed fairly early, and with Bitty curled into his side, Jack slept better than he ever thought he would the night before he could clinch a playoff series. Until his eyes had jerked open at 6 a.m. and refused to close.

If they won today, they’d be through to the Eastern Conference finals, ready to play either the Penguins or the Capitals. Sid and Geno or Ovi and Oshie. It certainly wasn’t going to get easier.

“Since I am here, where do you keep the coffee? I’m pretty sure your mother will be in here once she can smell it,” his father said.

Jack snorted.

“Bitty too,” he said. “I’ll make it. I’ll only have one cup, and I wanted to wait until everyone else was up. There’s stuff to make breakfast in the fridge, too.”

“I’ll make breakfast,” came a sleepy voice. “No coffee yet?”

“I’m just making it,” Jack said. “Sit down a few minutes.”

“What do you want to do today?” his father asked Bitty. “Jack’s probably going to have to be in by 9:30 or so.”

“Papa, he has to study,” Jack said. “He has a French final tomorrow. Don’t be talking to him all day.”

“What if I talk to him all day in French?” Bob winked at Bitty.

“Good Lord, help me,” Bitty said.

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Bob protested.

After breakfast, Jack packed his bag and left for the arena, where found a team practically vibrating out of its skin.

He stowed his things in his locker, and when Poots knocked over a stack of tape, Jack looked at him and said, “Take it easy. It’s just a hockey game.”

Marty came up behind him and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Keep telling yourself that, rook.”

“Rook with an A,” Poots defended him.

Jack turned back to his locker stall and took Marty’s advice, mentally repeating what he had told Poots. It was just a hockey game. But if they won, they’d be through to the next round, and people wouldn’t be able say they were wrong to take a risk on Jack. They’d say it anyway, probably, but more people wouldn’t believe it. 

It didn’t matter what people thought, Jack knew that. And it was just a hockey game.

In the end, Snowy got a shutout and the Falconers won 4-0. Jack sighed in relief. There would be press after the game, and time to watch the Pens-Capitals game Tuesday, and a new series coming up.

Tonight, there was Bitty to drive home and tuck into bed before coming home to see his parents again.

************************************

May 9, Bitty

Bitty stood in the kitchen with his flashcards and his phone out.

He arranged his face in a smile that he hoped looked sunny, and fanned the flashcards out next to him.

He snapped the selfie and sent it to Jack with the caption, _Wish me_ _bonne chance!_

He was walking to his French exam -- at least the written test; there would be an oral exam later in the week -- when his phone vibrated with Jack’s response. 

_Bonne chance, lapinou! Je t’aime. Appelle-moi plus tard?_

_Bien sur,_ Bitty replied. _Je t’aime aussi._

Then he was sitting in his seat and turning his exam paper over as soon as Mme. Gauthier said, “ _Commencez._ ”

What followed was 90 minutes of wrestling with “ _il y a”_ and the permutations of _“être”_ and “avoir.”

There were a couple of brief passages to read and answer questions about and a long section on vocabulary that covered everything from days of the week and numbers to travel and restaurant terms. If only she would ask about cooking terms instead of how to order food.

When it was over, he felt like his brain had been wrung out. 

His earlier plan to head right to the library to study more for history and sociology was going to have to go by the wayside. There was nothing he could do about it now. Thinking would be impossible.

Even baking wasn’t appealing to him at the moment. All he wanted to do was curl up and take a nap. He wasn’t sure how Jack was surviving the playoffs; Bitty was exhausted, and he was just watching. But that might have something to do with finals, as well.

He knew he should have studied more the day before, but there was no way he was going to miss the Falconers winning the series at home.

He’d been seated in the family box again, between Gabby St. Martin and Alicia Zimmermann. With him between two blond women, it would be a toss up as to who people thought he was related to, he supposed. All of them cheered every time the Falconers did anything good, so that wasn’t much of a clue, either.

Even so, he’d tried to keep his seat, not draw too much attention to himself.

Sure, Gabby would be happy to say he was a family friend, as would Alicia and Bob, but he didn't want to put anyone in that position.

The game had been great, with the outcome feeling like a foregone conclusion after the first period. Marty had a spectacular day, with two goals and an assist (“Not bad for an old guy, huh?” he'd joked after the game. “Can't let the rookies have all the fun.”).

Jack had played well, with an assist on Marty’s power-play goal. He'd been happy after the game, Eric thought, but not jubilant.

When Eric had followed Jack into his bedroom when they got back to the condo, he’d said “Congratulations,” and reached up to press a soft kiss to Jack’s mouth.

Jack had kissed him back, but when he broke away, he said, “Thanks, but we haven't won anything yet.”

They'd gone out for dinner that night, along with Tater and Poots and a couple of other rookies, all in awe of Bad Bob, and then Jack had driven him back to Samwell.

He'd kissed Jack goodbye and said, “I don't know when I'll be able to make it to Providence this week. I'll try, but it will probably be Wednesday or so.”

“It's fine,” Jack had said. “Your exams are important. And I don't know what the end of the week will be like for me. It’ll depend on the Pens and Caps Tuesday. We’ll play it by ear, OK?”

That was yesterday. Today, Bitty set his alarm to wake him after an hour. He could work on history and sociology this afternoon and then bake tonight.

Of course it didn't work out. When Bitty’s alarm went off, he turned it off and went back to sleep. When he woke up, it was 2 o’clock and he was starving, so he went to the kitchen to find something for lunch. He hadn't been home to cook, so there were no leftovers and not much edible in the fridge. That meant a trip to the store, and a stop at Annie’s on the way for sustenance.

By the time he arrived home, coffee long gone but laden with bags of fruit and vegetables and meat, he was thinking more early dinner than late lunch. There was just enough time to bake a couple of pies first.

So he made a half-sandwich with the bread and turkey he bought to tide him over and got to work.

He was rolling out his dough when his phone buzzed with a text from Jack.

_How's the studying going?_

Bitty thought about dissembling, but instead snapped a picture of the in-progress pie crust and sent it back.

 _Wrong question,_ he said. _The pies are coming along nicely._

His phone rang.

“Bits, you have a final tomorrow,” Jack said. “You have to study.”

“I’ll look over my notes tonight,” Bitty said. “It's sociology. I have like a 95, and I understand the material. It'll be fine.”

“If you say so,” Jack said, but he sounded dubious. 

“It's the culture of celebrity,” Bitty said. “I've been studying that for, like, half my life. And now I'm dating a real live celebrity so I have an even better perspective.”

“I'm not a celebrity like Beyoncé or anything, though,” Jack said.

“Don't burst my bubble, sweet pea,” Bitty said. “You’re my celebrity.”

“If you say so, Bits,” Jack said. “Skype tonight? We can practice for your French oral.”

“That sounds so dirty,” Bitty said. “Too bad it isn’t. But fine.”

*******************************

May 10, Jack

Jack arrived at the practice facility energized.

The team could know as soon as tonight who they’d have to play -- who they’d have to beat -- to take home the Prince of Wales trophy and play for the cup.

Both teams were good, and the Falcs would have to be at their best to beat either. Jack wasn’t sure if he had a real preference one way or the other. It didn’t matter if he did anyway; the Falcs would get who they would get and he couldn’t do anything about it.

If it was the Capitals, they’d see a series against the expansion Falconers as an opportunity to move forward in their quest to finally win a cup, and they’d be full of confidence after finally vanquishing the Penguins in what would have to be a seven-game series. 

If it was the Penguins, well, it would bring all the baggage that playing one of his father’s old teams usually brought, only heavier. It would mean playing Sid and Geno, both of whom had visited his parents’ home and played golf with his dad in the off-season, and seeing Uncle Mario. But going into a series with them and walking away with the trophy? It would mean a lot.

And the Penguins could win the series tonight, meaning a quicker turnaround and less time for the Falconers to get rusty.

OK, so maybe he had a preference.

Tina pulled him aside after he’d put his things away.

“I just wanted to check in with you on the social media stuff. It seems to be going pretty well. You got lots of likes and retweets when you congratulated the Islanders on a well-played series. Any ideas on what else you might have coming up? Maybe something with your dad and the Penguins?”

“Uh, like what?”

“Maybe something like an old picture of him in his Penguins jersey next to one of him in your Falconers jersey, saying he’s rooting for you now?”

“No,” Jack said. _Merde._ That came out too short.

“I mean, I’d rather not,” Jack amended. “I know the commentators and every one like to compare me to my dad, and I can’t stop them, but I don’t want to encourage them.”

“OK,” Tina said. “I really don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I really didn’t see it as a comparison though, just a chance to show off his support.”

Jack sighed. His dad won a cup with the Penguins. Of course people would compare them. He didn’t say that, though.

“I don’t really like to show off,” is what he said. “And Papa’s friends with Mario and Geno and Sid and Flower, too. How about I just congratulate whichever team wins tonight?”

“I’m sure that’s fine,” Tina said.

“Can I still post non-hockey things?” Jack asked.

“Jack, you can post whatever you want, as long as it’s not offensive and doesn’t invade anyone else’s privacy,” Tina said. “And by ‘offensive,’ we mean ‘likely to cause controversy in a way the team doesn’t want to deal with.’ So nothing that’s going to be bulletin board material for another team, or make you or your teammates look like poor role models, right?”

“Uh, right,” Jack said. “But some of my Samwell teammates are graduating next week. I know I probably can’t make it to the ceremony, but is it OK to congratulate them on Instagram and Twitter?”

“Absolutely,” Tina said. “Do you need me to track down photos? You probably don’t have any of them playing.”

“No, that’s OK, I think I can get hold of some,” Jack said. “And I can get Bits to send me some of them in their caps and gowns before they leave for the ceremony. I know he’ll make them stand still for a photo. It’s not bad if both of us post the same picture, is it?”

“Of people who were both of your teammates? I think it’s fine,” Tina said. “Ready for practice?”

“Absolutely,” Jack said. “I can’t wait to play again.”

He spared a thought for Bitty, whose sociology final should be ending soon, and geared up.

Practice was tiring, but not exhausting, with the coaching staff paying as much attention to managing energy levels as maintaining and skills and perfecting plays.

They had team lunch then a long session to go over tape -- mostly of themselves, since they didn’t know which team they’d be playing yet.

Jack saw plenty of areas for improvement, in his play and that of his teammates, but he kept quiet. As Marty had oh-so-gently reminded him, he was still a rookie.

After the tape session, he took his time in the gym with some of the others, while Snowy and Thirdy took their turns on the trainer’s table. 

He had showered and dressed and was ready to leave when Thirdy stopped him. “You want to get a bite with Snowy and me?” he asked. “Maybe come over and watch the game? The family’s away -- with Carrie's mom for Mother’s Day this weekend -- so I’m on my own. Didn’t you say this was Eric’s finals week?”

Thirdy and Carrie had been kind to Jack and Bitty, and Jack didn’t want to be rude. “Yeah, yeah it is. I need to call him later -- he has an oral exam for his French class tomorrow -- but I can stay for the game. Sounds fun.”

With just Snowy and Thirdy there, Jack didn’t feel like he had to watch himself as much, and he ended up picking Snowy’s brain about Fleury and Murray and Holtby, and sharing his own insights on the tactics both teams used.

When the game ended, he stood and stretched and made his goodnights, silently thankful that he’d found another team that felt like family.

***************************************

May 11, Bitty

_“Bonjour, Eric. Comment-allez vous?”_

And with that phrase of formal French, Mme. Gauthier was off.

 _“Je vais bien, Madame. Et vous?”_ Bitty answered. This much he had memorized for certain.

_“Je vais bien aussi. Il fait chaud aujourd’hui, non?”_

_“Oui, Madame. Mais il ne fait pas trop chaud pour moi.”_

_“Aimez-vous le temps chaud?”_ she asked.

_“Oui, madame. Je viens de Georgia et c'est chaud là.”_

_“Alors, qu’aimez vous faire?”_

Bitty knew the answer to that, too.

_“J'aime cuisiner et jouer au hockey.”_

_“Parlez-moi de la cuisson.”_

Bitty launched into the sentences he had prepared.

_“Je fais la plupart du temps des pâtisseries. J'aime surtout faire des tartes.”_

_“Quel est votre type préféré de tarte?”_

Mme. Gauthier had an encouraging smile pasted onto her face as Bitty stumbled through his answer. He could do this. She had provided possible conversation prompts ahead of time, and Jack had helped him work through them, going so far as to let Bitty record Jack saying sentences that might come up so he could practice.

He didn’t think it sounded like much of a real conversation -- it sounded nothing like when Jack slipped into French with his parents or with Marty -- but he thought his answers at least had some relevance to the questions Mme. Gauthier was asking.

Their back-and-forth continued for 10 nerve-wracking minutes. Bitty would have thought it was ridiculous and worried over how he was murdering the pronunciation of the words if he wasn’t so focused on trying to keep up with questions Mms. Gauthier was asking him.

At the end, she said, “ _Bien fait, Eric,”_ before mercifully switching to English. “Good job,” she said. “I can tell you worked hard.” 

She entered something on her laptop then turned it so he could see.

Combined with his written exam grade, he’d earned a B. Some of that was probably her being nice because she knew he was trying, but that was good enough for him. He couldn’t wait to tell Jack.

He texted as soon as he left Mme. Gauthier’s office, but Jack didn’t reply right away.

Bitty went back to the Haus and started on a batch of apple mini-pies, the ones he’d tried to describe to Mme. Gauthier. He could give her a half-dozen now that he was done and it wouldn’t even be bribery.

He was in the kitchen when Holster came in, looking tired but pleased.

“Last econ final done,” he said. “One more test and I’m free.”

Yes, one more test and Holster would be done. One or two more tests for Ransom and Lardo and they would be done, too, ready to graduate and move on and leave Samwell (and Bitty) behind.

Ugh, why was he like this? He was looking forward to being done with finals just as much as Holster was. Bitty forced a smile and said, “I still have two, but I’m done with French and that’s worth celebrating, right?”

“Is that what the pies are for?”

“Well, I was going to give half to my French teacher for putting up with my horrid accent all this time,” Bitty said. “But you can have one. There’s enough to give one each to you and Ransom and Lardo and each of the frogs,”

“You know Dex and Nursey and Chowder really aren’t frogs anymore, right?”

“They’re my frogs,” Bitty said.

“Besides, what about you?”

“I can make more anytime,” Bitty said. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Wasn’t there something you wanted me to help with?” Holster said. “Rans has a bio study group at Founders for a couple of hours, so he’s doing his best imitation of not-a-coral-reef, so I’ve got a little time.”

“I have to write a proposal for a project I want to do at my internship,” Bitty said. “I know what I want it to say, but not really how to say it in the way they need. Can you help?”

“Sure thing, bro. Let me get my laptop.”

Holster started with a spreadsheet, which Bitty found strange, but Holster explained that if he made a worksheet with the purpose and the procedure he wanted, and another with what he needed to make it work, he could pull those directly into a word processing document or a slide presentation or anything else he needed.

By 4 p.m., they had a working document ready for Bitty to go over one more time (and maybe get Jack to look at) before he sent it to Jacqui.

Bitty finally picked up his phone to find congratulations from Jack on the exam.

 _Thanks,_ Bitty said. _Or merci beaucoup. I really wish I could come down tonight, but my calc study group is having one last session and I should go, and I have to study for history tomorrow._

There was a pause while Jack typed.

_I understand. I was hoping you could come and get the car, though. We’re leaving for Pittsburgh tomorrow. What time is the history final?_

_10 a.m.,_ Bitty responded. _And then I have the calculus final Friday morning._

 _You have your own keys so you can get the car anytime,_ Jack said. _But I was hoping to see you. We’ll figure it out. What time’s your study group tonight?_

 _7-9 pm,_ Bitty said. _I’m going to try to finish these history questions first, and then get some sleep._

 _Sounds like a good plan,_ Jack said. _Don’t forget to eat. Talk tonight?_

_As soon as I get back from the study group?_

_Talk then. I love you._

_I love you too._

Having the Skype date planned kept Bitty more or less on task through a dinner of Bagel Bites and carrots and hummus (crucify him, sometimes you just needed something easy) and studying, and he was feeling virtuous when he climbed the stairs back to his room after leaving the math building.

He opened the door, planning to change before setting up his laptop to call Jack, and froze. Jack was sprawled across his bed, sound asleep.


	8. Ma7 12-16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graduation, and the beginning of the Eastern Conference finals vs. the Penguins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, not beta'd, so please let me know if you see something I need to fix. Or, y'know, if you like it ...  
> Not mine. But I sure love playing with these characters.

May 12, Jack

Jack tried to get comfortable in the passenger seat of Tater’s car (truck? behemoth?). He had an ache in his neck and his hip was sore, and he was forcibly reminded why he and Bitty usually spent their nights together in Providence. Bitty’s bed was just too small. And uncomfortable. How did he sleep on that all the time?

Maybe Jack could get him a new mattress and box spring for next year. They wouldn’t have to be bigger -- although they could be, if there was a new bed frame too. Bitty’s room at the Haus could accommodate a full-size instead of a twin, maybe even a queen -- but at the very least, Bitty shouldn’t be able to feel each individual spring poking him all night long.

“Zimmboni, you all right?” Tater cast him a concerned look as he headed south to T.F. Green.

“Just slept funny last night,” Jack said. 

“Hah -- slept,” Tater said.

“Not like that,” Jack said, knowing he was blushing and unable to stop it.

The thing was, it hadn’t been like that at all last night.

When he was texting with Bitty the day before and realizing what a bad idea it would be for Bitty to come see him, and how irresponsible it would be for him to encourage Bitty to do it anyway, the idea of going to Samwell to see Bitty had crossed his mind.

As soon as they stopped texting, he thought more about it, and it didn’t take much for him to convince himself it was a good idea. This morning, achy neck and sore hip and all, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

He’d called Tater and explained that he wanted to leave the car with Bitty, and was there any way Tater could come to Samwell to get him Thursday morning. Tater loved Bitty (“B”) nearly as much as Jack, and had really enjoyed the time Jack had brought him to the Haus for the Keagster, and he was all for it. 

“You have to understand,” Jack said. “It’s finals week, and they’re all busy and stressed out, so you’re really just coming to pick me up this time.”

Then Jack had waited until he knew Bitty would be with his study group and drove down, letting himself in the kitchen and going upstairs without being seen. He wasn’t sure where everyone was, exactly, but he knew from the group chat that everyone was too busy studying to meet for dinner. Besides, he still had a key. He was allowed. But he was just as happy not to have to talk to anyone.

Once he got to Bitty’s room, he sat on the bed with a book, and that was the last he remembered until Bitty was standing over him saying, “Jack! Honey, is everything all right? What are you doing here?”

And Jack had blinked up at him, smiled, and said, “I wanted to see you.”

“Jack, you shouldn’t have,” Bitty said. “You’re leaving tomorrow for Pittsburgh. You need a good night’s sleep. Now you’ll have to get up extra early to drive back and get packed.”

“I’m already packed, and Tater will come get me and take me to the airport. You can hang onto the car and drive down after graduation.” 

Bitty looked at him and shook his head.

“This boy,” he said. “What am I going to do with you?”

Then he let Jack take his hand and pull him down onto the bed. Jack had wrapped Bitty in his arms and just held on for a long time, breathing in the scent of his hair and feeling the warmth of his compact body against him. Somehow, Jack just breathed more easily with Bitty there.

After a while, Bitty had pushed back and said, “Let me brush my teeth and shower. I’m all gross from the day.”

Jack had followed Bitty to the bathroom, brushed his own teeth and rinsed off in the shower as well, then they had headed back to Bitty’s room.

Jack read Bitty’s notes on the study questions for his history exam and was impressed. Bitty had actually put thought into them -- and somehow managed to relate nearly all of them to food. Then they’d gone to bed. There had been a little lazy making out, but truth be told, Jack was exhausted, and he thought Bitty was worse.

Bitty had fallen asleep half on top of him, with Jack pushed up against the wall, and even though the strange position was making itself felt this morning, he’d slept well. Bitty had hopped out of bed at 7:30 looking better rested than he had in some time, and headed downstairs to start a batch of blueberry muffins to send with Jack and Tater.

“You have a final this morning,” Jack tried to tell him. “You don’t have to bake.”

“It’s just muffins, Mr. Zimmermann. They’ll be in the oven faster than you could make toast.”

Jack dropped two slices of bread in the toaster and raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe I exaggerated, but just a little,” Bitty said. “Besides, it’s really nice of Tater to come all the way to get you.”

“If you feed him, you’ll only encourage him,” Jack said.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Bitty said.

Ransom wandered into the kitchen and pulled the toast from the toaster, slathering it with peanut butter.

“Encourage who?” he asked. “Morning, Jack.”

“Tater,” Jack said. “He’s picking me up.”

“Alexei Mashkov is coming here again?” 

“Just to pick me up, and he won’t be here until after 9,” Jack said.

“Oh,” Ransom said. “I have a test.”

“I know,” Jack said. 

Lardo strode into the kitchen and filled a to-go cup from the coffeemaker.

“G’morning, Jack. Lunch with me and Ford today, Bits? My treat,” she said.

“Sure, Lardo,” Bitty said. “Text me where to meet you.”

Ransom left to get dressed and Jack and Bitty were alone in the kitchen.

“I’m going to miss graduation,” Jack said.

“I know,” Bitty said.

“I’ll call them all that morning,” Jack said. “But could you get a picture of them all in their caps and gowns before they go to the quad? I want to do a congratulations post.”

“Of course,” Bitty said.

“And they’re all going to be pretty close, so tell them we’re gonna get together later,” Jack said. “We can have them over for dinner in Providence. I’ll even let Ransom and Holster run the grill if they want.”

“OK,” Bitty said.

He took the muffins out of the oven and sipped his coffee until they were cool enough to pop out of the pans. He put two on a plate, and the rest in a basket lined with a blue dish towel.

“For you and Tater,” he said. “Good luck, sweetheart. Play hard. Be careful. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Jack said. “Good luck on your tests. Talk later, OK?”

“OK,” Bitty said, then he was hefting his bookbag and grabbing the muffins before pushing out the screen door and letting it slam shut behind him.

Jack was waiting on the Haus porch, duffel bag at his feet and basket of muffins in hand when Tater drove up.

“B already taking test?” Tater asked.

“Yes,” Jack said. “And everyone else is either taking a test, sleeping or studying. But Bitty wanted me to give you these.”

“Jack, you are luckiest guy I know,” Tater said.

“I know,” Jack said.

**********************************

May 13, Bitty

It was noon, and Bitty was officially done for the year. He didn’t yet have grades for his history and calculus exams, but he was confident that he had passed both classes. Confident that he’d done well, even, in the history class.

But if Bitty was done with finals, that meant the year was well and truly over. The seniors had finished their undergraduate careers; all that was left was for them to kiss the ice tomorrow night, and to walk across the stage Monday.

Last year, Bitty couldn’t have imagined Samwell without Shitty and Jack. You’d think he’d get used to it, but now he was lost when he tried to think of what it would be like without Ransom and Holster and Lardo. What would they do without Lardo? Ford was great -- she really was -- but Lardo knew everything. And next year Bitty was supposed to lead this team.

Well, Bitty could do his best to send them off right. There would have to be snacks for Faber tomorrow night, and brunch on Sunday, and nibbles for the families at the Haus before the ceremony Monday, and care packages for all the graduates …

At least he had something to do.

Bitty texted Jack that he was done, then headed to Annie’s for a coffee and a place to sit and plan the menu … menus … for the coming days. After all, he had Jack’s car. He could buy as much as he wanted, or as much as the combined resources of his debit card and the Sin Bin could afford. But not too much; he’d be driving to Providence Monday afternoon and only Nursey and Dex would be left, repainting their room and moving in bunk beds.

He pulled out his phone and started a list.

Two hours later, he was surveying the groceries that covered the counters and table and mentally dividing them. Sunday brunch was bacon and sausage to go with pancakes and homemade strawberry syrup. Eggs, too.

Monday morning would be mini-quiches with asparagus and cheese and fresh fruit, coffee and tea and juice.

For Faber tomorrow night, cookies and mini-pies, the things that had become comfort food for the residents of the Haus. For something savory, he had bought what he needed for a homemade snack mix, a little sharp and salty enough to stand up to the beer that would no doubt be consumed.

And, Bitty decided, each graduate would take a complete pie when they left: chocolate pecan for Lardo, peach with ginger for Ransom and classic cherry for Holster. Then he would make and decorate cookies for each of them -- make them look like hockey players for Ransom and Holster and an artist for Lardo. Maybe just a palette would be easier.

And if he started now, he could record everything and get well ahead on his vlog while Jack was busy with the Penguins.

A slightly nervous giggle escaped him when he thought about that. Jack had graduated last year, and this year he was moving in with Jack for the summer. Jack who was playing tonight in the first game of the Eastern Conference finals. He never could have imagined that before graduation last year.

Even Shitty was around more than Bitty would have expected, although that might have something (everything?) to do with Lardo. Graduation meant his friendships would change, not end.

Bitty worked for four hours straight, stopping only to make himself a sandwich for dinner. He needed to reach a good stopping point so that he could watch Jack’s game.

Everyone else filtered into the living room during the pregame, and Bitty put out bowls of popcorn and pretzels.

The game did not go according to plan. Anyone would know that, even if they didn’t follow hockey.

Chowder cringed when Snowy got his leg tangled with Patric Hornqvist’s stick behind the net. He buried his face in his laptop when Snowy was carried off the ice on a stretcher.

That meant bringing in Dmitriy Karev, acquired before the season from the KHL. Only 21 and a rookie, Jack said he mostly kept to himself, although he would speak to Tater in Russian sometimes.

He wasn’t brilliant, but he was good enough. 

Marty scored just before the end of the first, and Fitz scored off a rebound early in the second, with Malkin in the box. Then Jack assisted on Guy’s goal to make it 3-0.

Hornqvist scored on a nifty assist from Crosby before the second ended, and that was it. The third period featured lots of back-and-forth skating but no goals, and the Falconers won 3-1..

An hour after the game, Bitty was sitting up in bed when Jack called on Skype.

“Hey, bud, did you watch the game?” Jack asked.

“Of course,” Bitty said. “How’s Snowy?”

“X-rays are negative, so that’s good,” Jack said. “He wants back in, but they’re saying day-to-day. He practically lives in the trainer’s room already.”

Jack yawned.

“You’re tired, sweet pea,” Bitty said. “Get some sleep. I love you. Congratulations on the win.”

“Love you, too, Bits,” Jack said. “Talk tomorrow?”

“Absolutely,” Bitty said. “Sweet dreams.”

******************************************

May 14, Jack

With two days off between games, Jack knew he was in for team bonding time.

And that was fine. The team was great. He loved his teammates and the coaching staff. He even liked management and some of the front office staff.

But that didn’t change the fact that this was an important weekend for his second family. His first second family, anyway.

Jack went to the morning skate, team lunch and mandatory meetings, but he begged off MarioKart or other activities when he returned to the hotel.

He told Tater and Poots he needed to rest, but instead he lay on the bed and ruminated.

Ransom and Holster had been frogs the first year Jack was captain, and Lardo had come on as manager as well. Looking back, Jack wondered what anyone was thinking making him captain then. Sure, he was the best player on the team -- anyone with his hockey experience probably would have been, with just a modicum of talent. But he really hadn‘t been much of a leader. He hadn’t spent much time thinking about what motivated the other players, or worked very hard to try to meet their needs. He knew he was supposed to lead by example, but he thought that mean everyone else should get with the program and keep up.

Maybe he would have stayed like that if it wasn’t for Bittle. Even if he had never become Bitty, never become the most important person in Jack’s life (and he was, even if Jack had never told him in so many words). Bittle, the undersized forward with the oversized eyes who could dance and weave his way around the opposing team like a wisp of smoke and sneak the puck in the net when everyone was busy looking where he had been a half a second ago. But also Bittle, who collapsed in a heap if anyone so much as glared at him.

That wasn’t fair, Jack knew. He’d done plenty of glaring that first fall, and Bittle had never backed down. The thing with physicality -- and now, after knowing Bitty so intimately, he understood that it wasn’t just being hit on the ice that had been a problem; even the friendly rough housing the team engaged in had been enough to make Bitty focus on his breathing to appear to be fine -- its roots went deep. Jack thought he understood where it came from, at least partially, but he was pretty sure that Bitty could still use some help dealing with it. But when Jack had suggested therapy, Bitty had demurred. Apparently, that wasn’t something boys from small towns in Georgia did, and they certainly didn’t let their boyfriends pay for it.

It was a small miracle that Jack’s rudimentary exposure therapy had worked as well as it did on Bitty’s reaction to checks. It probably wouldn’t have worked at all without Bittle’s own strength and toughness.

Jack wondered whether he should go find some of the guys. He wore an A, after all. But he’d put as much effort as he could into each of the team obligations today. He felt like he should after telling first Tina and then George that he wouldn’t be doing any interviews about his father’s legacy in Pittsburgh during the series.

That hadn’t stopped Pierre McGuire from cornering him before the first game and, after asking about the series in front of them, wondering aloud how Jack’s father felt about Jack playing against his old team.

Jack had chuckled (he hated that word) and said that he was told he’d been here in Pittsburgh to see his father win the cup back in 1991, but he didn’t remember.

“It’s no secret that my career has taken a different trajectory than my father’s,” Jack said, almost daring Pierre to go into more detail. “I’m just happy to be playing and making a difference for my team.”

If the Falconers went on to defeat the Penguins in this series, then there was a real chance that they’d face the Aces in the final. If the media storyline about Jack slaying his father’s dragon in Pittsburgh weren’t enough, then they would be able to talk about him and Parse.

And playing Parse was fine. They’d played twice during the regular season, and Jack tried to treat it them like any other games. But Parse was intense.

Jack had a feeling that whatever he said about Parse in interviews would be wrong -- at least to Kenny. He’d tried before the game in Providence to put the talk to rest, saying they were friends once, but it was in the past.

That was true, as far as it went. He and Kenny had been friends, and they never told anyone any more than that. And given the way it had ended the last time they spoke, well, that friendship definitely was in the past.

Jack knew that he owed Kenny apologies. He understood now that it must have been hurtful when he cut him off. But back then, it had been everything he could do to wake up every morning and face the fact that he had ruined everything, that he would never be the kind of man his parents wanted and the hockey world expected. Having Kent -- his first everything -- show everyone how it was supposed to be done just made it harder.

It was a long time before Jack considered that Kent had lost anything at all, and by that time, it seemed too late to say anything.

It was probably something he should bring up in therapy. Again. And probably something he should talk to Bitty about instead of glossing over it. What he had told Bitty, well, it was true in its essentials. He and Kenny had been kids, both intent on rewriting the hockey record books, and neither one of them had the kind of maturity any long-term relationship needed, let alone one that would have to remain secret while they competed against each other from opposite sides of the country. It was always destined to end. But there was more to it than that.

But not something to talk about in the middle of the playoffs.

If he talked to Bitty, he would find out what he was baking, because he was sure Bitty was baking something.

Tonight would be the night the seniors would make their farewells to Faber. On this night last year, he’d given his jacket to Bitty because he was cold, and Bitty had fallen asleep against him. And still he hadn’t understood what it was that made him feel warm inside.

Maybe he’d still had a lot to learn then. He thought he was doing better now.

He texted Bitty.

_Busy baking?_

Bitty responded a moment later.

_You know me so well._

_Put me on Skype so I can watch? I miss you,_ Jack said.

 _Give me a minute,_ Bitty said, _Gotta get my laptop set up._

*************************************

May 15, Bitty

Bitty leaned on Lardo’s doorjamb while she held … something up and contemplated it.

She sighed and tossed it in the open box on the bed.

“Need some help?” he asked.

“Uh, sure, Bits, if you have time?”

“Sure do,: Bitty said. “I mean, there’s a chocolate pecan pie that needs baking, but that won’t take more’n a minute.”

“Sure, Bits,” Lardo said, this time with a raised eyebrow.

How did she _do_ that? Bitty tried to raise his own eyebrow like that, and ended up giggling.

“Maybe a little more than a minute,” he said. “But yes, I’ve got time. What can I do?”

“Grab a box” -- she gestured to a stack by the door -- “and put stuff in it.”

Bitty unfolded one of the flattened boxes and taped the bottom closed.

He looked at the corner piled with sketchbooks, boxes of paint and brushes and tools, pens and ink and charcoal and good Lord, was that a blowtorch? He wasn’t touching that.

The shelves held textbooks and art books and a number of binders full of notes and sketches for projects. He moved to them and started placing the books neatly in the box.

“Is all this going to New York with you?” Bitty asked.

“All of it? No,” Lardo said. “I’m spending the summer in Boston, so my plan is to unpack and repack what I want to take. I can leave the rest.”

She shrugged.

“I probably should have gone through and cleaned out already, but I was busy … and I just didn’t want to think about it,” Lardo said.

“Staying in Boston, huh?” Bitty said. “Isn’t Shitty spending the summer there too?”

Lardo had turned to face the art supplies. “Yes, he is. He got a clerkship with a federal judge.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Yes, it is,” Lardo said. “Really. It’s just going to be hard to move to New York in August.”

“You still think it’s the right school for you?”

“Yes, I do,” Lardo said. “I really do. But I’m going to be busy, and Shits is crazy busy when he’s in school, and I don’t know when we’ll ever see each other.”

“You’ll find time,” Bitty said.

“It’s not 45 minutes apart, Bits,” Lardo said. “It’s four hours on the train or bus.”

“And that’s doable for a weekend, especially if you have a three-day weekend,” Bitty said. “And you both have winter break and spring break.”

“I know,” Lardo said. “But it’s a lot of time apart, and I’m afraid it won’t be worth it for him.”

“Lardo, do you remember what he was like when you came back from Kenya?” Bitty said. “I mean, this is Shitty we’re talking about, and I had never seen him more excited.”

“We weren’t together then,” Lardo said.

“So how much more is it worth to him now?” Bitty said. “I know he’s going to be a big shot lawyer and all, but he’s not forgetting you.”

“If you say so,” Lardo said, but she looked a little brighter.

“He’s coming tomorrow, right?” Bitty said.

“Yeah,” Lardo said. “He’s coming today, actually. He should be here in an hour or so. We’re taking at least one carload today.”

“Thanks for warning me,” Bitty said. “I’ll make sure we have munchies for later.”

By the time he went downstairs, he knew Jack would be done with his team obligations for the day.

 _Wanna skype while I bake?_ he texted.

He was still pulling ingredients out when his laptop signalled Jack’s call.

“How’re you doing, bud?” Jack asked.

Bitty made a face.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I mean, I’m sad that Lardo and Ransom and Holster are moving on, but I’m so proud of them. And I’m happy to be moving to Providence tomorrow, but it’s gonna be an adjustment.”

“How was last night?”

“It was sad, a little,” Bitty said. “But it was nice, too.”

Ransom and Holster had sat on the roof, one on either side of Bitty, and talked about TV shows and school and hockey and musicals until the sky lightened in the east. Bitty, drowsing after two beers, had felt safe and warm in a way he never would have expected to feel, sandwiched between two giant jocks. He would miss them, of course, but he didn’t feel the twisting in his gut he felt when Jack was leaving last year. Instead, he’d found himself thinking ahead to next year, when it was his turn. If the Falconers did well next season, Jack probably wouldn’t be able to come to his graduation either. 

“You have plans to watch the game tomorrow night?” Jack asked.

“Not really,” Bitty said. “I probably won’t get there until maybe four or five, and I have some unpacking to do. And I don’t really know anyone …”

“Bitty, don’t even say that. Call Gabby or Carrie. I know they’re not here in Pittsburgh, and either of them would be happy to watch with you. Or both. They’ll probably be together anyway.”

“But they’ve been friends for years,” Bitty protested. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Do I have to talk to Marty or Thirdy?”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Jack, you’re not my mama and you don’t have to arrange play dates for me,” Bitty said. 

“I wouldn’t mind another kind of date,” Jack said. “I’ll be home by Tuesday morning. I can’t wait to see you.”

“You too, sweet pea.”

**************************************

May 16, Jack

Jack remembered when he used to get chirped for never paying attention to his phone.

Now his teammates wouldn’t shut up about how he was looking at it every 30 seconds.

“Aww, leave him alone,” Tater said, when Marty made a joke about taping it to his hockey glove so he could take it on the ice. “He loves his B.”

“It’s not Bittle,” Jack said. “Well, it is, but not like that. He’s live-tweeting graduation.”

The team had come off the ice after morning skate just as the ceremony got under way.

Jack was following along as Bitty tweeted about the fine May weather, the procession, the speeches. Then there were blurry pictures from at least 20 rows back of the three seniors accepting their diplomas, and a smiling emoji and a teary emoji.

Jack pulled up Instagram and added the photo of the graduates in cap and gown that Bitty had sent earlier to a post he’d started, with a picture of the three of them as frogs that Bitty had gotten from Shitty, and posted it with the caption, _They grow up so fast! Congrats to @LarDuan, @abirkholtz4 and @just11ransom #Samwell2016 #SMH_

He shot Tina a text to let her know it was up, and asked her to keep an eye on the comments. He didn’t see why anyone would troll that post, but he’d learned that such things were unpredictable, and he didn’t want any of them to deal with nastiness because of him today.

Then he texted Bitty.

_I know you’re busy right now, but thanks for the pictures and for tweeting graduation. Remind them that we want to see them over the summer. I’m going to rest now. Love you._

“Tell me you’re not having a second adolescence and you’re not going to stay up texting when you should be resting?” Thirdy asked as he finished.

“No, I’ll rest,” Jack said. “Look, I’m turning my phone off now.”

Thirdy nodded and said, “Good. We need all the focus we can get tonight.”

Jack was focused for the game, as focused as he ever had been, but it wasn’t enough.

The Penquins jumped out to a two-goal lead in the first, but the Falconers fought back to tie it before the period ended.

No one scored for the rest of regulation, but it felt to Jack like the Penguins just kept coming at them all night, spraying puck after puck at Karev, who had been brilliant, but that wasn’t enough either. 

The Pens had just been a step faster the whole game, a step faster than the Falcs and a step faster than they had been on Friday. They were stealing the puck and creating turnovers and making the Falconers play catch-up, and, in the end, making the Falconers pay in overtime.

Of course it was Sid. Sid, who’d been more or less neutralized for the last several games, chose tonight to break out of his goal-scoring drought with a perfectly placed shot -- from his knee, no less -- over Karev’s shoulder less than a minute into overtime.

Then, after the Pens let him go, Sid skated by Jack on his way off the ice, clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Good game.”

Sure. For him.

Next game, Jack would find a way to be better.

Sitting in his locker stall after the game, cap pulled low over his eyes, Jack tried to put a positive spin on it to the reporters.

“I think they played a really good game, and we could have maybe done a few things differently, but we know what we have to work on,” he said. “And that goal from Crosby -- I don’t know how anyone could have stopped it.”

When they moved on, he started stripping out of his sweaty gear slowly.

“Jack,” Guy said, trademark frown firmly affixed. “Lighten up.”

Jack looked at him. 

“You want _me_ to lighten up?” he said.

“They played great. We didn’t. We still took them to overtime,” Guy said. “We’re tied 1-1 after playing the first two games on the road in the conference finals. Could be a lot worse.”

“And we get to go home for a few days at least,” Thirdy said. “I’m ready to be out of that hotel. Bitty gonna be at your place?”

“Yeah, he should be,” Jack said. “I thought he was going to watch the game with Carrie and Gabby.”

“Maybe Gabby,” Thirdy said. “Carrie had a class tonight.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” Jack said. He racked his brain for a moment. He knew Carrie had at least a master’s in linguistics. “Taking a class or teaching one?”

“Teaching,” Thirdy said. “Well, being a teaching assistant. I think the final was tonight, actually.”

“Cool,” Jack said. “But yeah, Bitty was planning to come to Providence today. He’ll be there almost all summer.”

Thirdy smiled.

“Does that mean you bring dessert to all the barbecues?”

“Yes, I guess it does,” Jack said. “I guess it does.”


	9. May 17-21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob and Alicia visit; playoffs get harder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I don't own the "OMG Check Please!" universe, so thanks to Ngozi for letting us play here. Also as always, not beta'd, so please let me know what O have to fix.

May 17, Bitty

Bitty was sitting on Jack’s couch in the dark when he heard Jack’s key in the lock.

He’d watched the game with Gabby and the girls, then headed back to Jack’s to finish unpacking.

There really wasn’t much to do; he’d driven most of his things down already. He’d be moving back into his room at the Haus in the fall, so all he brought was what he needed for the summer, and if he forgot anything, well, he could always go back and get it.

He hung the button-down shirts and the slacks he brought at the end of Jack’s closet and lined his shoes up opposite Jack’s. He put his favorite glass pie plates -- the ones MooMaw had given him -- in the cabinet. He put the camera he used for vlogging in the desk in the guest room, which Jack also used as an office, and plugged his laptop in to charge.

Then he was done.

He took his phone and its charger and sat on the couch. He thought about turning on the TV, but he didn’t want watch the sportscasts rehashing the Falconers’ loss.

Gabby had been philosophical about it. She’d put the girls to bed after the second period and returned with a glass of wine. “Want some?” she asked. “Another slice of pie?”

Bitty didn’t understand how she could be so calm in a tied game, especially one that felt like it was going to tip the Penguins’ way at any moment.

“They’re not going to win every game, Eric,” she said. “That’s just not the way it goes.”

“But they have to play every game like they’re going to win,” Bitty protested. “Otherwise, they’d never win! And it’s so exhausting to play so hard and know that it’ll probably just come down to one bounce one way or the other. Ugh. I can barely watch.”

“Eat your pie,” Gabby said. “I know what you mean. I can get as excited as the next person when I’m actually at the game, but at home I guess I’ve learned to save my energy.”

But she had groaned just as deeply as Bitty when Crosby scored in overtime, and picked up the dishes with a scowl.

“Well, that sucked,” she said.

“Yes it did,” Bitty said. “Can I help clean up?”

“Nah, you go along home. See you Wednesday at the game?”

“Sure thing,” Bitty said.

By now, it had been Tuesday for a couple of hours at least. Bitty had scrolled through his phone, liking Instagram posts from graduation and reading tweets about the game. Jack’s post congratulating Ransom, Holster and Lardo had garnered over a thousand likes, and Bitty saw that several Falconers had commented both on Jack’s post and on the posts the three graduates had made.

But after a while, Bitty put his phone down and looked around Jack’s condo, the lights from the street turning everything to shades of gray. It was quiet in Providence this late; Bitty could hear cars slide down the street a few floors below.

The condo was all Jack: clean and neat, comfortable enough, but neutral colors and a distinct lack of knick-knacks. The signs that it was lived in were mostly Bitty’s -- his blue hoodie over the back of one of the kitchen stools, an open cookbook on the counter from when he had been considering trying out a new recipe for the vlog.

He heard a car pull up, and a door close. It was two or three minutes later that he heard the key in the lock, and then Jack opened the door, silhouetted against the light from the corridor.

As the door swung open wide enough to accommodate Jack and his bag, a shaft fell across the couch where Bitty sat, his feet drawn up in front of him, his arms around his knees.

“Bits? What’re you doing up?” Jack said.

“I thought I’d wait for you,” Bitty said. “You should have texted. I could have picked you up.”

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Jack said. “You should be getting some rest.”

Bitty shrugged.

“I didn’t want to go to sleep in your bed without you here.”

Jack looked confused for a moment, then crossed to the sofa and sank down next to Bitty.

“Not my bed,” he said. “Our bed. It’s just as much yours as mine. And you need to get your sleep. You don’t have to keep my schedule. You’ll be working.”

“I won’t do this all the time,” Bitty said. “But it’s our first night … well … living together.”

“I know, and it was a pretty poor welcome with me not even being here,” Jack said. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Bitty said. “You’re in the playoffs, Jack, in the conference finals. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“I won’t apologize if you don’t,” Jack said. “Come on, let’s get to bed.” 

*********************************

May 18, Jack

Jack wondered if there was something wrong with him.

He'd woken up next to Bitty the second morning of what he really hoped was the beginning of sharing a home for the rest of their lives.

And he'd gotten up and watched tape.

When Bitty crawled out of bed an hour later, Jack had coffee with him, and ate some of the breakfast Bitty prepared, along with his protein shake, and then packed up his bag, kissed Bits on the cheek, and left.

Not that he'd had any choice about the leaving part. He was due at morning skate. But he’d always thought that when (if) he got what he always wanted -- Bits sharing his home, sharing his life, loving him and being loved in return -- that it would be all Jack wanted to focus on. He'd had fantasies of lazy mornings in bed, of snuggling and making out at night until things got heated, of spending whole days walking hand-in-hand on a beach.

That wasn't happening, and not because Bitty was holding back or pulling away. And sure, Jack knew he couldn't do that just now, but shouldn't he be more conflicted about it? Didn't Bitty deserve more than a peck and a distracted “See you after the game. Oh, by the way, my parents will be in sometime today.”

Bitty had still been squawking when Jack walked out the door.

_Crisse,_ he was a screw up.

He sent a quick text to his parents. _Remember Bitty’s at the condo,_ just in case they’d forgotten.

His mother texted him back almost immediately.

_Just landed. We’ll be there in an hour or so. I’ll text him to see if he’d like us to stop for anything on the way._

Which even Jack knew was her way of warning Bitty about his parents’ imminent arrival.

Marty sat next to Jack, putting his own lunch down.

“What’s with the long face, kiddo?” he said. “In case you didn’t notice, we’re tied 1-1, and we stole a game in Pittsburgh.”

“It’s not that,” Jack said.

“What is it then?”

“Bitty moved in Monday,” Jack said.

“I know,” Marty said. “Gabby said he brought pie to watch the game with her and the girls. I think their dessert standards are going up. Isn’t that a good thing, though?”

“Of course,” Jack said. “It’s great. But …”

“But … living together is harder than you thought?”

“No,” Jack said. “We lived in the same Haus for a year already, and he’s stayed here plenty.”

“He’s being clingy and doesn’t understand that you’re busy?”

Jack remembered the bright smile Bitty had given him when he kissed him goodbye, perfectly cheerful -- at least until Jack had mentioned his parents.

“No,” Jack said.

Marty looked at him for a moment.

“You’re going to have to give me more to go on here,” he said.

“How did you say goodbye to Gabby this morning?” Jack asked.

“Like usual,” Marty said. “She was leaving to take the girls to school and I think she was going to the gym. I was having my coffee, and she wished me luck and said she’d see me after the game.”

“And how long have you been married?” 

“Is this a quiz?” Marty said. “Let’s see … almost 9 years. We got married in July.”

“That’s kind of how Bitty and I said goodbye,” Jack said. “But we’ve barely been dating a year. A year today, if you count from graduation. Officially, not even that long. And he didn’t say anything and I didn’t even think of the anniversary until after I left.”

“So you’re thinking the romance is already gone?” Marty said, just a little disbelieving.

“Maybe a little?” Jack said. “But I know Bitty, and I’m sure he remembered, and he just didn’t say anything for my sake. And I guess I’m surprised that I feel OK about it? I don’t even know.”

Marty nodded.

“So how nervous are you about this game?” he asked.

“Not much,” Jack said.

“Then I suggest you order your boyfriend flowers and keep thinking about him,” Marty said. “He’s a smart kid. I’m sure he’ll keep himself busy.”

“My parents should actually be there pretty soon,” Jack said. “I’m sure they’ll find things to do. I think my mother wants to take him shopping.”

“Your folks will be here tonight?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Bitty’s going home to Georgia next week, and they wanted to see him before they go. And I’m pretty sure my dad didn’t want his first appearance this series to be in Pittsburgh anyway.”

Marty stood and said in a loud voice, “Hey, boys, Bad Bob’s in the house tonight. Let’s make him proud!”

Jack put his face in his hands, then looked up.

“He’s been to plenty of our games, you know.”

“I know,” Marty said. “Just trying rile the guys up.” 

***********************************

May 19, Bitty

Bitty pulled the scones from the oven and set them on the cooling rack before joining Alicia at the kitchen table.

“I think I’m going to go to Madison,” he said. “I think I’m just a distraction here right now.”

“Eric, Jack would never call you a distraction,” Alicia said.

Bitty huffed.

“Just because he wouldn’t say it doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Bitty said. “He doesn’t need to be worried about me hanging around here.”

“I’m sure you’re more than capable of finding productive things to do,” Alicia said. “I’ve seen your vlogs. Those take some work to put together.”

Bitty felt his cheeks heat.

“Wait, you’ve watched my vlogs?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve only seen a couple of them,” Alicia said. 

Bitty felt himself relax.

“But Bob watches all of them,” she continued. “Says he’ll be a competent baker yet.”

Bitty wanted to hide his face in his hands. Instead, he tried for a smile and said, “He could just ask me to show him.”

“I think he wants to surprise Jack,” Alicia said. “Now that he knows baked goods are the way into Jack’s good graces.”

Bitty snorted at that, but Alicia continued. “But don’t change the subject. This is as much your home as Jack’s -- I know that’s how he feels, too -- and if you’d rather be here, you should stay.”

“That’s a nice thought,” Bitty countered. “But it really is Jack’s place -- says so on the deed and everything -- and I’m just here because he’s being generous. And of course, Mama and Coach are expecting me, and so’s my MooMaw, and some other people, but they aren’t as important.”

“Couldn’t you hang on and go after the playoffs?” Alicia said.

“Not really. Not for more’n a long weekend, because I’ll have work. And if I put it off, it’ll be like I’m telling my parents that Jack’s more important, and maybe he is, but he doesn’t need me getting in his way just now,” Bitty said.

Alicia shook her head again, but said, “I’m not going to argue with you. How’s this: You go like you planned, but if you want to come back early for any reason -- any reason at all -- you call me, and I’ll cover the cost to change your ticket.”

“Oh, I couldn’t, ma’am,” Eric said. “You’ve been too generous already.”

And she had, taking him out during the day yesterday and buying him two new shirts and two pairs of dress slacks, and then dragging him off to Jack’s tailor to get them altered to fit.

“All you hockey players,” she said. “You and your rear ends. You shouldn’t wear anything off the rack.”

It had been wonderful, shopping for clothes with someone who had an innate sense of color and texture and cut. Mama had it a little bit, but she expected Bitty to follow the style of his male relatives and neighbors, and he was so far beyond khaki cargo shorts.

When they returned, there was a vase of roses for Bitty with a card saying, “Happy anniversary, _lapinou_. See, I didn’t forget!”

It had been a fun day, at least until the game ended with the Falconers at the wrong end of a 4-2 score. Jack had been even quieter than usual after a loss, and when he and Bitty dropped into bed, he let Bitty cradle him in his arms until he went to sleep.

This morning, he had been up and gone -- the sheets on his side of the bed already cold -- when Bitty woke.

Bitty didn’t know how long Jack had spent looking at game tape before Bitty and his parents got up, but he was grateful when Bob dragged him outside to walk to the store and get more coffee while Bitty finished his scones and Alicia finished the last of the coffee in the pot.

And he was looking forward to getting to Madison and seeing MooMaw and his parents and some of his cousins and friends. He hadn’t seen Sam since January, and he’d only been home for a weekend over spring break.

He and Jack already had plans to visit over the Fourth again, but he felt like it was important to spend some time with his parents on his own, especially since he hadn’t been home since the day after he came out to them.

As long as he was in the playoffs, Jack wouldn’t miss him too much, Bitty thought. He’d be too busy, too focused on the next game. When Jack told Bitty that he was more important than hockey, he believed him, in a general, cosmic kind of way, but that didn’t mean Jack would put a leisurely evening with Bitty ahead of preparing for a game, especially in the playoffs.

“Game 5 is Sunday,” Bitty said. “If that’s the end of the series -- and I really don’t think it will be -- I’ll stay here if he wants me to. Otherwise, I’ll go, and with any luck, he’ll be starting the final when I get back.”

“But if he’s not --”

“I don’t know,” Bitty said. “I’m not sure he’d want me here anyway. You see how he is after they tyeyloses -- he likes to be alone. Besides, if I stayed now, he’d just think I was planning for them to lose.”

“He does tend to get deep in his own head,” Alicia said. “But I don’t think that means he doesn’t want you around. Just keep my offer in mind, OK?”

********************************

May 20, Jack

Finally, finally, they were firing on all cylinders.

Jack had taken the ice for the first shift and wristed a pass from Poots over Murray’s glove 27 seconds in to take the lead.

The Falcs added to it over the next two periods, a power play goal from Guy, a slapshot from Tater, a neat wraparound from Fitz. 

Heading into the locker room for the second intermission, Jack drew a deep breath. Twenty more minutes and the series would be tied 2-2, which was a world away from being down 3-1. They’d have to win another game on the road, but they won the first game in Pittsburgh. 

He clapped Karev on the shoulder -- the rookie was on fire tonight. Neither of the two losses had been his fault; the whole team knew that. Maybe he’d given up four goals on Wednesday, but he’d stopped 44, and the Falconers hadn’t been putting anywhere near that pressure on Murray.

That was one of the things Jack had noticed in the hours of tape he’d watched. Well, probably anyone who had seen either of the last two games had noticed that. Jack had looked for the little ways the team could improve -- the little ways he could improve -- getting a step ahead on the Penguins defenders, looking for opportunities to pass to high-percentage scoring areas, finding ways to get the puck away from the Penguins in the neutral zone.

And it had paid off. For the first 40 minutes, the play had been in front of Murray most of the time, and Karev had handled everything that came his way. 

Jack tuned into Thirdy’s talk.

“Keep it up, boys,” he was saying. “Nothing too fancy, but don’t take it easy. Keep the pressure on.”

That was easier said than done.

Jack knew there would be stories that said the Penguins crept back into the game, but it didn’t feel like creeping at all. Fleury replaced Murray in the Penguins’ net, playing for the first time since suffering a concussion nearly two months earlier. The Pens came out in the third period flying, and what had been a 4-0 game was 4-2 with eight minutes left with goals by Kessel and Malkin.

Then Poots took a tripping penalty, and Kunitz scored on the power play.

Jack looked down the bench. Everyone looked focused, and he took a deep breath. Not tonight. They weren’t going to lose tonight.

The Falconers had to tighten up during the last two minutes, when Fleury was off the ice and the Penguins had six attackers, but they held on.

The press questions didn’t seem as long or as annoying after a win, and his shower felt more refreshing. When he emerged from the locker room, Bitty was waiting with his parents and Gabby and Carrie.

“Ready to go, bud?” Jack asked.

“Absolutely,” Bitty said. “Congratulations on the game. You sure got it started right.”

“Nearly couldn’t finish it,” Jack said, but he felt himself smiling, because they had finished it. The series was tied. 

“But you did,” Jack’s father chimed in.

Bitty led the way to the car, Jack followed and his parents trailed behind. Jack put his bag in the back and went to the passenger seat, leaving Bitty to drive home. His parents took the back seat.

“Do you have plans for tomorrow?” Bitty asked. 

“Sleep,” Jack said. “Eat. Exercise a little. We’re leaving for Pittsburgh around 2. Why? Did you need me for something?”

“Not really,” Bitty said. “I’ll be around. But your mom and I are probably going out for a bit. Your tailor said my pants would be ready. But just tell me if you want me for anything, and we’ll work around it.”

Jack was dozing by the time Bitty pulled into the garage. He roused himself and headed into the condo, trailed by Bitty and his parents.

“Let me just get you some of this chicken casserole,” Bitty said. “You should eat.”

“You don’t have to,” Jack said. “I can have a protein shake and call it a night.”

“Jack,” Bitty said. “You need to eat real food. It’s Nate-approved. I promise. And it’s keeping warm so I just have to plate it for you.”

“I don’t want to make you go to any extra trouble,” Jack said.

“It’s not extra trouble. It would be extra trouble to put it away again,” Bitty said.

Jack looked up and saw his parents watching from doorway to the corridor. They looked amused.

“Fine, Bits,” Jack said. “I’ll eat. But you have to sit with me.”

“Sure thing, sweet pea.” 

*******************************

May 21, Bitty

Jack had said “Absolutely not” to Bitty’s offer to make muffins or scones or anything else for the team to have on the road, so Bitty contented himself with making a selection of pies for the families that planned to gather to watch Sunday’s game.

The St. Martins and Robinsons were both staying in Providence, and Alicia and Bob would be there too. 

Jack, true to his word, had slept until nearly 9, which definitely counted as sleeping in for him. Bitty had everything ready for a mostly-egg-white and veggie omelet when Jack got up, along with whole wheat toast and fresh juice.

Then Jack hit the building’s gym for an hour, came back and showered and starting putting his bag together.

Bitty sat on the bed and watched him.

Jack would be gone until sometime around midnight Sunday night, then Bitty would have to be at the airport in Boston at 9 a.m. Monday and he’d be gone for a week. Long enough for the Pittsburgh series to end whichever way.

“You sure you don’t mind me going to see my folks?” Bitty asked.

He’d asked when first planned the trip, knowing that there was a possibility the Falconers would be in the playoffs, but far too soon to have any idea of they would be playing let alone what the schedule would be.

“Of course, Bits,” Jack said. “You haven’t seen your mother since December, or your father since he was here. You should see your family. If you want to.”

“Of course I want to,” Bitty said, because he knew Jack had not quite forgiven his parents -- especially Coach -- for not stepping in to stop the abuse Bitty suffered before he left for college. Bitty, for his part, wished it hadn’t happened that way, wished his parents had done something different, but also wished that he had confided in them. He found it hard to blame them for not knowing things he worked so hard to keep from them. Even if they really should have known.

And they had been -- Coach had been -- so much better with him coming out than Bitty expected. Awkward sometimes, yes, and not ready to hit the Pride Parade in Atlanta, but open and trying. Mama had been Mama, trying to hide that was hurt that Bitty hadn’t told her earlier, disappointed that she hadn’t found a way to make things better for him, but open and loving and very curious about Jack. 

“But we’re going in July anyway,” Bitty continued. “If you want me here, I can stay.”

“No, it’s OK,” Jack said. “I don’t want you hanging around here with nothing to do but wait on me. Go see your folks. Hang out with Sam. Go show the people at the rink how it’s done.”

Bitty giggled.

“How what’s done? It’s too early for camp to be in session. It’s just regular lessons and public skate. But there might be some free hours …” he said.

“Then go skate,” Jack said.

“If that’s what you want,” Bitty said. “Skype every day?”

“Of course,” Jack said. “And text me as much as you want. I just might not be able to respond right away if I’m on the ice or in the gym.”

“Of course,” Bitty said. Because really, Jack? Did he think Bitty didn’t know that? “Oh, I made your PBJ for tomorrow. It’s in the freezer. I’ll be fine before the game if you just keep it in your lunchbag.”

Jack grinned.

“Thanks,” he said. “And to think Maman thought I’d never find anyone to take care of me.”

Bitty thought about going for the innuendo, about saying, “How can I take care of you now?” with a pointed look at Jack’s groin, but it would only be for laughs. Jack had to leave in less than an hour and his parents were in the kitchen. Instead, he said, “I try.”

“Maman and Papa will be here until the game Tuesday at least,” Jack said. “I hope that’s OK. I guess it sounds a little strange to me, leaving my boyfriend and my parents together … but they adore you. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have come in until the end of the series if they didn’t want a chance to see you.”

“It’s your home, Jack, of course your parents should stay here,” Bitty said. “And they’re great. A little intense maybe …”

Jack grinned at him.

“I can tell you from experience, that just means they love you.”

Then Jack was gone, driven to the airport by Bob.

Alicia took Bitty to pick up his clothes from the tailor. Bitty had to admit that the alterations the tailor made, minor as they had been, made the pants both feel more comfortable and look better. The waistband now sat smoothly at his waist, his belt more a fashion accessory than a necessity to keep his pants from slipping down or gaping at the small of his back and giving anyone behind him a view of his underwear.

The three of them spent the evening playing Trivial Pursuit, drinking wine and watching bad TV. Bitty thought it would have been one of the most relaxing nights he’d had in some time, if only Jack’s absence hadn’t felt so very present.


	10. May 22-26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty goes to Madison and has a talk with his mother. Jack keeps playing hockey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the usual notes: not beta'd, let me know if I should fix something, not my characters, all praise to Ngozi.  
> Also: briefly NSFW in the middle of the May 23 entry, in the paragraph starting with "Really, it hadn’t been anything anyone would write home about."

Chapter 10

May 22, Jack

At least this was a one-game road trip, Jack told himself. They’d be away from Providence for less than 36 hours. Especially with a Sunday matinee game.

They’d flown in the afternoon before and gone directly to the hotel. There were meetings and tape to watch, and then the guys split into smaller groups to have dinner. 

Jack again found himself gravitating to the veterans, the ones with families or significant others at home. Marty and Guy joined Jack and Snowy, who would be kicking himself if he didn’t want to further injure his leg. It was tough, Jack knew. As much as what happened wasn’t Snowy’s fault -- sometimes things just happen -- if Jack had been in his place, he’d blame himself, too.

After dinner, there were video game tournaments. No, Jack did not want to play as the Falconers on NHL 2K16, thank you very much. He’d take the digital version of the Samwell team that Ransom put together for him, or, better yet, something that was not hockey. Or MarioKart. He had played enough MarioKart in the Haus to last him two lifetimes. When he complained about that to Bitty, he suggested Jack challenge the team to a round of Dance, Dance Revolution. Jack had only looked at him in incredulity. Bitty said, “What, you were going to suggest Wii bowling?”

The next time Jack looked through the games in the drawer after that, there was a copy of Dance, Dance Revolution. He still had to get Bitty to play. Jack wasn’t under any illusion that he could beat Bitty at a dancing game, but that wasn’t really the point.

Bitty was the point, and Jack knew Bitty was why he was feeling out of sorts. Not Bitty, exactly, but the fact that he would be gone next week.

Jack had absolutely no right to ask him to stay, he knew that. Bitty should see his family, and it was more difficult for Bitty’s parents to travel to see him than it was for Jack’s parents, who had been flying all over the world for as long as he could remember. It was easier for Bitty to go to them, since he still had a week before he had to start work and Jack would be busy anyway.

But Jack wished he’d had the whole playoff schedule when Bitty was making his plans, some way to know who they would be playing when. Because this week was going to bring the end of the Penguins series one way or another, and Jack thought he’d like to have Bitty around to either celebrate or commiserate.

But it wouldn’t be fair to ask Bitty to change his plans.

At least today’s game would be over by late afternoon, and after a catered team dinner -- mostly to make sure everyone had a chance to refuel before the flight -- he’d be home well before midnight, and maybe he and Bitty would have time to cuddle -- maybe even more -- before they fell asleep.

 _Crisse,_ he was pathetic. Twenty-six years old, living with his 21-year-old boyfriend, and they hadn’t had sex for over a week. Jack was pretty sure that Bitty would have been up for it, but Jack hadn’t asked and Bitty was trying to be considerate, he supposed.

When the game started, it was almost a relief to hit the ice. Hockey was hard, sure, but it was something Jack knew. The ice was a place where Jack almost always felt sure of himself. Even if he failed, he knew what he did wrong or what he could have done better.

And the beginning of the game all went wrong, with Pittsburgh jumping out to a 2-0 lead early in the second. But then Marty scored, and just over a minute later Jack shoved in a rebound after Tater’s shot to tie it up.

But Pittsburgh took the lead ahead again just before the period ended.

Jack poured everything he had on the ice in the third, but nothing worked until near the end of the period, when Jack passed to Thirdy and skated behind the net. Fleury blocked Thirdy’s shot, but Jack was just coming around the other side of the net as puck bounced away and he was able to knock it back in to tie the game again.

They ended up winning 53 seconds into overtime. Thirdy was credited with the goal, as Poots’ shot ticked off Thirdy’s sweater in front of the net.

For the first time since game 1, the Falconers had the lead. They could close out the series on Tuesday at home. Bitty would be waiting when Jack got there tonight. For now, at least, Jack thought, all was right with the world. 

*******************************************

May 23, Bitty

Bitty was drowsing when he heard the ding that meant the fasten-seatbelts sign was being turned on.

He’d be on the ground in Atlanta in about, what, 10 minutes?

On a Monday in May. That meant it would be Mama to pick him up. The high school would probably be having final exams this week. He’d often chirped his father about the notion of a final in gym, and Coach would point out that he had an actual degree in physical education, so it wasn’t like he couldn’t come up with a test. But then he’d acknowledge that the test he came up with was so easy as to make it so that anyone who turned up on time to take it would, at the very least, not lose points.

The plane hadn’t even landed yet, but already Bitty could see the differences from New England. The greens were more yellow, lighter, brighter somehow. The dirt where he could see it was red, and it looked like it was already shorts weather.

Bitty could see the people on the plane start to gather themselves and their things up as they taxied towards the gate, and he wondered when this stopped feeling like coming home.

It was still familiar, of course, the drawl he heard as he made his way through the terminal, the heaviness of the air even inside the airport.

He knew that he looked like he fit in, in his pressed slacks and polo shirt that in Boston would be seen as trying too hard for someone not headed to an office, and he was looking forward to sitting at the kitchen table with Mama and drinking sweet tea.

But somewhere along the line, this had become his childhood home, not the home where he belonged now. It was his past, not his present and certainly not his future.

He stood next to the pickup lane, keeping an eye out for Mama’s minivan, and moved to get in as soon as she swerved to the curb.

“Look at you, Dicky!” she said as soon as he buckled his seatbelt. “You look so grown up now! I believe you’ve gotten taller.”

“Not really, Mama,” Eric said. “I still haven’t broken 5’7”.”

“Well, your shoulders have definitely gotten broader,” his mother said. “I know it’s a Monday and all, but your father was going to go pick up your MooMaw today after school and bring her over to Madison for dinner.”

“That’s nice, Mama, thanks,” Bitty said. “I could go if Coach would rather just come home. He’s got all those exams to grade, after all.”

His mother made a noise that might have been a snort if she hadn’t been his mother.

“I think he’ll be fine,” she said. “I thought maybe you could help me with dinner? You can be in charge of dessert. And you can tell me all about what it means to be captain, and all about your job in Providence.”

Of course, once they sat down, that wasn’t what she asked about first.

“How’s Jack doing? I sure am looking forward to seeing him in July. What are you boys getting up to these days?”

If she saw the blush that rose on Bitty’s face when he thought about what they’d gotten up to the night before, she ignored it.

Really, it hadn’t been anything anyone would write home about, probably, but it had felt wonderful, Jack crowded up against his back, his arms around Bitty, stroking and pulling at him while Jack’s cock slipped up and down the crack of Bitty’s ass. It was one of the first ways they’d had sex -- or at least sex that was mutual, simultaneous pleasure, not just taking turns with blow jobs or hand jobs -- and it still one of Bitty’s favorites. He felt surrounded by Jack in the best possible way, like he was the focus of all Jack’s attention and affection. Sex could be affectionate, right? Even when it was, well, hot?

“You get all your things moved in all right?” his mother was saying.

“Sure did, Mama,” Bitty said. “It’s only about a 45-minute drive, and he left me his car so I could move stuff the last couple of times he was on the road. And if I forgot anything, I could just go back and get it.”

“I remember when I moved in with your father,” his mother said. “Lord, his place was … well, not a mess, really, but just drab, you know? No personality to it. The man hadn’t ever heard of interior design, I don’t think, let alone found a use for it.”

“Jack’s place is really nice, Mama,” Bitty said. “You should come see it sometime.”

“Well, I’m sure his mother helped him put it together,” she said.

“I think she did,” Bitty agreed. “But I’m pretty sure she made it look the way he wanted.”

“Well, he must be really busy with the playoffs just now,” his mother said. “If he left you to move all your things on your own.”

“Really, Mama, there wasn’t much to move,” Bitty said again, fighting back the urge to add, “because half my things were already there.” “And yes, playoffs are really intense. Especially for Jack. He really wants to prove himself.”

His mother’s expression had gone soft.

“That boy should know by now that he’s more than good enough,” she said. “We’ve been watching his games whenever we can since, well, since Christmas, and he’s the best on that team and in his first year. But he can’t win it by himself, now can he?”

“No, ma’am,” Bitty agreed.

“So tell me what it means for you to be captain,” she said.

Bitty shrugged. “I’m supposed to be a leader, I guess,” he said. “Make sure the boys take their responsibility to the team seriously, help them if I can. On the ice, I’m the one who talks to the officials, not that they ever really listen.”

“Too bad you can’t bring them pie.” she said.

“Mama! Now you’re chirping me?”

“It seems to work on your professors.”

“There is one thing, Mama,” Bitty said. “The coaches warned me that some people might think it’s kind of a big deal, me being the captain and being gay. There might be some stories about that, even if I don’t talk about it. I’d ask if you’re OK with that, but I don’t think there’s anything I can do to stop it.”

His mother poured more tea in her glass and looked at him.

“I’m fine with it, as long as they are fair to you,” she said. “Are you going to do interviews and things?”

“Maybe one or two,” Bitty said. “I know some people won’t like it, but I know it would have meant a lot to me when I was younger to see someone like me be a captain of a team. I don’t know that I’m anyone to look up to, but maybe just knowing about me can help.”

The door opened, and Coach came in with MooMaw.

“Hey, Junior,” he said. “I half thought you might stay up north, with the playoff series the way it is.”

*******************************************************

May 24, Jack

The condo felt empty with Bitty gone. 

Even though Jack’s parents were visiting, even though he was only home to nap before the game, even though Bitty’s stand mixer was on the counter and his clothes were in the dresser, it felt wrong.

He’d only moved in a week ago, at least to stay for the summer, and already home didn’t feel like home when Bitty wasn’t there.

Well, he would be back soon enough. Six days. And if things went right, Jack would be incredibly busy for far longer that.

Jack had Skyped with Bitty the evening before and heard about how there was a small but devoted group of Falconers fans in Madison, how MooMaw took offense every time someone checked Jack, how much Bitty’s parents were looking forward to seeing Jack over the Fourth of July.

When Jack asked what Bitty had been up to, he talked about baking some pies (of course) and making arrangements to visit Karla at the rink today.

“There’s a couple of hours free in the afternoon, between lessons and public skate, and she said I could have them if I stay and skate guard the public session,” Bitty said. “I think Sam’ll be there, too, so I figured maybe he could come home with me for dinner and to watch your game.”

That really shouldn’t have added to the sense of pressure Jack felt, because pretty much everyone he knew would be watching the game tonight. Bitty watched every game he could.

But somehow, knowing Bitty’s parents would be watching, that Bitty would round up his best friend in Georgia to watch, just made it seem that much more important to win. And if they won tonight, they would have at least a few days off. Maybe he could … No, Bitty deserved this time with his family on his own.

Jack took his nap and packed the PBJ that Bitty had made and left in the freezer.

His mother was the one who hopped in the car to drive him to the rink, and he was grateful. His father had been nothing but supportive, but Jack wasn’t sure he could stand to be confined in a car with him just now.

Bitty would be watching, and Bitty would be waiting to Skype with him tonight. They’d traded text messages earlier, and Bitty said he’d be upstairs in his room by 45 minutes after the game ended; all Jack would have to do is log on and call him.

Once at the arena, Jack resolved to focus only on hockey. This could be it: Win this game, and the Falconers would be playing on the biggest stage hockey had to offer.

It didn’t work out that way.

Murray took the net for the Penguins, and Jack was hoping they could chase him again. Poots put one in five minutes into the game, and it would have been a good start, but it was overturned when the video showed he’d been offside. That seemed to turn the tide, as Pittsburgh gained the momentum and it felt like the Falconers were skating through mud. The Pens had a two-man advantage late in the period -- Fitz had gone in on delay of game after trying to clear the puck and seeing it sail over the glass -- and Kessel redirected a pass from Sid.

By the end of the second, it was 3-0 Penguins, with goals added by Letang and Crosby (of course Crosby).

The Falconers buckled down in the third and scored two -- both by Thirdy -- but it was too little too late. Rust managed to get behind the D for a breakaway with just over two minutes left, and Bonino scored on the empty net for a 5-2 final.

Jack gave his rehearsed answers to the reporters afterwards.

“If someone had told us we’d be going into Game 7 of the Eastern Conference finals at the beginning of the season, we’d take it,” Jack said. “We won two in Pittsburgh, so we know can do it.”

Once they left, he sat and started at the dressing room floor for a long, long time.

Finally Thirdy approached him.

“Jack, get going,” he said. “Everything you said is true. It’s not over -- it’s even. Get your head on straight and be ready for Thursday. Don’t you have a cute little boyfriend waiting for you?”

“He’s in Georgia seeing his parents,” Jack said. “This was the only time he could go longer than a weekend this summer. We have a Skype date. And my parents are in town.”

“All right then,” Thirdy said. “Then get home and call your boyfriend.”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “I’m not really up to talk about it.”

“No?” Thirdy said. “Then talk about something else. Whatever you kids do on Skype these days. Give it a few years, and you can talk about the note about head lice the school sent home or why your oldest can’t do multiplication. Enjoy your time now.”

*****************************************

May 25, Bitty

Bitty checked his hair in the mirror in the first floor powder room, pushing the stray lock that fell across his forehead back up, willing the pomade to hold it all in place.

Mama’s kitchen might be air conditioned, but with the heat of the oven going for hours already and the humidity of the Georgia air, it was a losing battle.

Bitty had already baked a strawberry rhubarb pie, mostly for practice. Now he was going to make another one, on camera, while he talked about making pies with spring fruits. The warmth of the room made his cheeks look a little flushed, which was all to the good.

He hadn’t exactly slept well. Jack had offered to skip Skyping last night -- _I probably won’t be very good company,_ he said in a text -- but had answered when Bitty called.

“Hey, Jack,” Bitty had said. “Sorry the game turned out that way.”

“We could have played better,” Jack said. “I don’t know why we didn’t.”

“Sometimes you just don’t win,” Bitty said. “You play again Thursday.”

“I know,” Jack said.

“And you already won two games in Pittsburgh,” Bitty said.

“I know,” Jack said. “I said the same things after the game.”

“I know,” Bitty said. “I heard you.”

“But what if we don’t win?” Jack said. “What if we can’t do it?”

“Then you end the season as one of the top four teams in the league,” Bitty said. “But it’s too soon to worry about that.”

“I know,” Jack said. “I should be worrying about how to win. How to get the guys to focus and do what we have to do.”

“Or maybe not worrying at all,” Bitty said. “Keep a positive attitude.”

“Easier said than done, Bits.”

“I know, sweet pea, I know.”

Bitty would have given anything to be able to reach through the screen and hold Jack in his arms.

“It’s not all on you, you know?” Bitty said. “It’s a team sport, and you’re a good team, and so are they, and everyone is trying their best.”

No one could blame Jack if the Falconers lost, Bitty thought. Even if the Penguins won this series, they should give Jack credit for helping the team get further than it ever had, But he shouldn’t be thinking like that either. They had one more game, win or go home for both teams.

Bitty knew there was no way he would be at the game Thursday -- it was in Pittsburgh, and he and Jack had come to a tacit agreement that it would be too noticeable to too many people if he was with the team on the road. If he just turned up in Providence, he could be dismissed as a big fan, a family friend who sat with Gabby in the box.

But it still felt wrong being nearly 1,000 miles away when Jack was facing this.

Jack wasn’t by himself, Bitty reminded himself. He had the team, of course, and Jack had made some strong connections with his teammates. He had his parents, too, and if anyone knew what he was going through and how to help, it was them.

So Bitty put a smile on and started talking to the camera.

“Hey, y’all. How many of you remember this kitchen? That’s right, I’m back home on a visit, and I’m making a classic: strawberry-rhubarb pie.”

He had just turned off the camera and faced the sink full of dishes when his mother came in.

“All done, Dicky?” she asked. “It feels like old times, you recording yourself baking in the kitchen.”

Well, that was true, Bitty thought. Baking and vlogging and not talking about what was bothering him.

“You seem a little down, Dicky,” his mother was saying. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said.

“Dicky,” his mother said. “Remember, I know you.”

“It’s just Jack was pretty upset last night,” Bitty said. “And I know he gets anxious, so I’m a little worried about him. But his parents are there, and he’s got his team. He doesn’t really need me there.”

His mother picked up a dish towel and started drying the mixing bowl from the dish drainer.

“Did he tell you that?” she asked.

“Not really,” Bitty said. “But I asked if he wanted me to stay in Providence this week, and he said I should come here. And I get why. I was there all last week, and since my job doesn’t start until Tuesday, I’m just kind of underfoot. I don’t want to distract him. Anyway, he’ll be flying to Pittsburgh today, and his parents will go there for the game tomorrow..”

“I’m sure that’s not how Jack feels, sweetheart,” his mother said. “Maybe you should talk to him about this.”

“Mother!” he said. “It’s the playoffs!”

It didn’t help when Shitty texted in the afternoon, asking how Jack was coping.

 _He didn’t sound great last night,_ Bitty texted back. _But he’s got his parents there._

 _Wait, Bitty bro, you’re not there?_ Shitty texted back,

 _I offered to stay there, but he told me to visit my parents like we planned,_ Bitty said. _I’ve been wishing I didn’t come, tho_

A few second later, his phone buzzed with an incoming call.

Shitty.

“Brah,” he said. “Planes fly both ways. If you think you should be in Providence, go.”

********************************************

 

May 26, Jack

Jack awoke from his nap in the afternoon and was disoriented for a few seconds.

It was too dark, no sun slanting through the window. For a moment he wondered if he’d overslept and it was already dark, but that would mean he was late for the game. If that happened, someone would have called. Bitty would have woken him.

But Bitty was in Georgia, Jack recalled. And he was in Pittsburgh and the room was dark because it had the blackout curtains that all hotel rooms have and he had to get up and play the most important hockey game of his life so far.

And he’d played a lot of important games. He and Kent had hoisted the trophy together in the Q; he’d fallen short with the Samwell team in the final of the Frozen Four.

Bitty had come to find him after that game, had held him and never chirped a bit about his tears. Jack felt like he’d let all the boys down; it was only from talking to Bitty later that Jack realized the team felt like they had let Jack down. Then Jack felt worse, because they had all played so very hard.

Jack splashed water on his face and dressed in his game-day suit. He made sure he was downstairs to greet every player on the team before they got on the bus, to offer words of encouragement to each and every one of them.

Jack knew the Falconers had taken a risk in signing him. He was old for a rookie, even for one coming out of the NCAA. People who knew nothing about him said he would party too much and not take his job seriously; people who knew him slightly better worried that he would cave under pressure.

He knew, also, that even if they did not win the cup, the season had been a success, both for himself and for the team. He had played well, finished just a couple of points off winning the Art Ross, earned the respect of his teammates and management and had an A to show for it. The team had made it deeper into the playoffs than it ever had, and had a chance -- a good chance -- to start playing for the cup next week. Even if the season ended tonight, there was a lot to build on.

Jack wished Bitty were here. Bitty could distract him from the thoughts that kept spiralling around. Jack might sometimes worry about whether he was good enough for Bitty, but he never worried about whether Bitty thought he was good enough. And after months of checking practice, weeks of pie tutorials and a year of sharing their beds and their bodies whenever possible, Jack knew Bitty’s estimation of Jack did not hinge on the outcome of a single hockey game.

It turned out that was a good thing, because the Falconers lost. It was close, but the Penguins won 2-1 in regulation. And even with Sid and Geno and Kessel and the firepower Pittsburgh had, it was a rookie, Rust, who scored both goals for the Pens. It was another rookie -- Poots -- who scored for the Falconers. 

Jack had pushed himself beyond the point of exhaustion trying to make something happen for the Falconers, but nothing worked. After the game, in the handshake line, he was clapped on the shoulder and heard, “Great series,” over and over. When he got to Sid, though, he found himself pulled into a one-armed embrace.

“You’re a great player,” Sid told him. “And a good team. We were lucky to win. I’m honored to play against you.”

Jack could barely manage a “You too,” before having to move on, keep the line going. Later, he would wonder just how much Sid knew about him, that he said that. He’d decide that it wasn’t worth asking his father how much he’d shared with Uncle Mario or with Sid himself. Sid wasn’t out to hurt him. He had, in fact, done Jack the honor of playing him like he was anyone else. In the moment, though, Sid’s words brought the tears that were threatening into Jack’s eyes. He’d worked so hard -- they all had -- and come so close, only to fall short.

Jack and Marty and Thirdy were allowed to shower and dress before facing the media from behind a table on a raised platform instead of slumped in front of their cubicles. That meant Jack had a chance to look at his phone. His parents would be waiting for him, and there was a message from Bitty: _i’m so sorry. You played so well. I wish I was there._

As the least senior captain, Jack let Marty and Thirdy go first, to offer congratulations to the Pens and say the platitudes that came every time a team lost. They played hard, things didn’t go their way, there were a lot of positives to build on for next year.

Unfortunately for Jack, that meant that when the reporters got to him, the questions were more personal, and he could hear the unvoiced words in all of them. Was it hard to lose to his father’s old team, especially with his father there? (Could he ever hope to live up to his father’s legacy?) Was he disappointed to go out in the conference finals in his first year? (Instead of bringing home a cup like Kent Parson?) What would he do now? (Was there another overdose in his future?)

Jack took a steadying breath and thought about Bitty. He would make so many pies. Maybe it was good thing he was in Georgia. Not really.

“It’s never easy to lose, no matter the team,” is what he said. “What Marty and Thirdy said about the Penguins -- they played really well, and there were times we couldn’t come up with an answer. I guess that tells us we have some things to work on. But to get where we did is an accomplishment, maybe one that will feel better next fall. For now, I’m going to get some rest and spend some time with my family and friends who I’ve maybe been neglecting a little bit for the past few weeks.”

One more reporter called a question from near the back of the room.

“Before we came in here, we saw your parents in the corridor congratulating Mario Lemieux. When we asked for his reaction, your father said that of course he was disappointed that the Falconers lost, but it was a well-played series. He said he was proud of the way you played. How do you react to that?”

Later, Jack would see the clip, in which the reporter had pushed his father to compare Jack to himself. What his father had said was, “Jack’s a special player, and he’s stronger and more skilled than I ever was. The league has changed -- the game has changed -- and you can’t really compare the two eras. But I couldn’t be prouder of my son.”

Then Uncle Mario jumped in and said, “I don’t think anyone can legitimately say Jack Zimmermann was over-hyped. He’s a great player, and a fine young man. He has a great future in this league.”

But Jack hadn’t heard all of that when he answered.

“Of course it’s nice that my father is proud of me,” he said. “But really, what did you expect him to say?”

That got a laugh from the assembled reporters and team representatives, and the press conference was over.

He picked up his bag and checked his phone again, to find a series of responses from Bitty. He must have been watching.

_Work harder? How did I know you’d say that._

_It is an accomplishment._

_This friend can’t wait to spend some time with you._

_Look at you, making a joke. You know your dad really is proud of you, tho, right?_

Jack texted back, _Thank God that’s over. Going to say hi to my parents then head for the bus. Miss you._

The dots indicating Bitty was typing popped up immediately, so Jack waited for the message.

_Miss you too. Come home as soon as you can_


	11. May 27-31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring (and playoffs) are over; summer is starting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the usual disclaimers: I don't own anything, not beta'd, please help me fix mt mistakes.  
> Also: Fluff.  
> Probably one more chapter after this.

For the second time in less than two weeks, Bitty was sitting on Jack’s couch in Jack’s living room, up past midnight, waiting for Jack to come home.

This time, though, Bitty had left a light on. Just a small table lamp next to where he was sitting, so it wouldn’t feel so lonely. And so Jack would know that he was here as soon as he came in.

If Jack came in tonight. If the team’s charter returned to Providence as soon as possible after the game, it should be landing within the hour. But some of the guys might choose to go out, to drown their sorrows after the season ended earlier than they wanted. Jack wasn’t a big drinker, but he might want to be with his team. He might end up crashing on Tater’s couch, or in the St. Martins’ spare room, because he didn’t want to be alone.

Because Bitty had never actually said he was in Providence. His last text to Jack -- _Come home as soon as you can --_ was a little ambiguous, Bitty realized after the fact. Maybe Jack thought he was still in Madison. But why would Bitty want him to come home then?

Jack’s answer, probably sent once he was on the bus to the airport, didn’t clarify matters. _Can’t wait to get home. Maman and Papa are staying in Pittsburgh until tomorrow._

Read one way, it said that Jack wanted to have the night with Bitty, without having to consider his parents’ presence. But it could just as easily mean that he wanted to be alone with his grief.

Because that’s what it was, Bitty knew. He’d grieved the end of the SMH season when the team had failed to advance to the semifinals, and he’d grieved the year before when they’d lost in the final game. He suspected that even if they had won that final, a sense of mourning would set in after the elation passed because, win or lose, the end of a season meant the end of the team as it had been. If they’d won the national championship in Jack’s senior year, Jack would have gone out a champion, but he and Shitty would still have graduated, still moved on, and for Bitty, that would have been a loss.

NHL teams always had their off-season changes as well, maybe not as predictable as college players graduating but inevitable nonetheless. Players would retire and get traded and move up; no team stayed the same from season to season. Even if the Falconers stayed mostly intact, this season -- the season where Jack tore up the league as a rookie, the season where he sent a message to every naysayer that ever doubted him -- was over.

Bitty hoped he’d made the right choice by coming back to Providence. He was almost certain Jack would welcome his presence; even last year, when Bitty had found him alone in the loading dock, Jack had allowed his embrace.

Bitty at least hadn’t had to worry about his parents taking offense at him leaving. After he talked to his mother, and to Shitty, Coach came to the kitchen to talk to him after dinner Wednesday.

“Your mother thinks you want to go back to Providence,” was his opener.

“I guess maybe,” Bitty said, not sure yet where Coach was going.

“What’s stopping you?” Coach said. “Can’t afford to change your ticket, what with the job not starting yet?”

“No, sir,” Bitty said. “Well, yes, but not really. Alicia -- Jack’s mother -- told me to let her know if I wanted to come back early, and she’d lend me the money. It’s just, Jack can be really private, and I don’t want to be in his way, and I don’t want to act like I think I’m so important that whatever happens, he would need me there. He told me to come here. And y’all told everyone I’d be here ‘til Monday, and if I’m gone -- if I don’t turn up at family dinner Sunday -- you’ll have to explain that, and you can’t actually say I went back to be with my boyfriend, who’s playing for the Stanley Cup or … isn’t.”

“Do you really think Jack doesn’t want you there?” Coach asked.

“Not really,” Bitty said. “But I sure don’t want to go and find out I was wrong.”

“Well, I’ll do Mrs. Zimmermann one better,” Coach said. “I’ll pay for you to change your ticket right now, and if you get there, and Jack says you should have stayed here, then I’ll pay to fly you back, too. But I’m certain that won’t happen.”

“OK,” Bitty said. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you so sure?”

“Because every time I’ve seen you and Jack together, he acts like his main job in life is to take care of you,” Coach said. “And you’re the same way about him. And that’s as it should be if you two are serious about this.”

Coach got two beers from the fridge and motioned Bitty to sit at the table.

“Look, Junior, if I were going through such a stressful time for whatever reason, I would want your mother to be around, even if there was nothing she could do,” Coach said. “I know she’d cook up a storm and fuss and try to coddle me, and maybe none of that would really help, but the fact that she was trying to help would mean a lot. And if she was having a difficult time with something, I’d do the same thing. With less cooking.”

“That’s why you do all that for Aunt Barbara?” Bitty said. “To keep her off Mama’s back?”

“Well, it ain’t because of Aunt Barbara’s charming personality, that’s for sure,” Coach said. “Look, if you want to go, go. Get your computer and do what you have to do to change your flight. Your mother and I can handle things here.”

So Bitty had gone from a Monday direct flight to Logan to a Thursday flight into Providence. It meant changing planes in Baltimore and didn’t get him in until about an hour before the game, but he was in the condo with the TV on when the puck dropped.

When it was over, he’d texted with Jack while he made something between a hearty soup and stew with chicken and vegetables so there would be something nutritious and comforting when Jack got in, no matter how many hours it took. He made a maple-crusted apple pie as well. He put fresh sheets on the bed and turned back the covers, leaving the bedside lamp on.

With the stew keeping warm in a Dutch oven and the pie cooling on the counter, he moved to the couch to wait. Because even if this was Jack’s home, he felt like this was right. This was where he was supposed to be.

He was scrolling through Twitter when he heard Jack’s key in the lock. He saw the relief flood Jack’s face as the door opened and he saw the light on and Bitty there on the couch.

“Bits,” he said. “You are here.”

************************************

May 28, Jack

“Ready for a run?”

Jack stood at Bitty’s side of the bed, already dressed in shorts and running shoes.

Bitty cracked one eye open and glared.

“How?” he said. “How are you up so early? After all that moaning and groaning about how exhausted you were.”

Jack looked pointedly at the windows, where he had already opened the blinds to let the sun shine in.

“Bits,” he said. “It’s 9 a.m. I have to be at the arena by 11 for locker clean-out. And I spent pretty much all day yesterday in bed, because you were here. In this very bed. The better question is, how can you still be sleeping?”

“It’s not like we were sleeping all day yesterday!” Bitty protested, but he was sitting up.

Truth be told, there had been a lot of sleeping, at least on Jack’s part, but there was also a lot of cuddling, a fair amount of kissing and enough other activities to remind Jack of what he’d been missing the past several weeks.

Bitty was heading for the bathroom, unfairly graceful even after he just woke up.

“Meet you by the door,” Jack said. “Drink some water, and there’s a piece of peanut butter toast for you in the kitchen.”

“Aye, aye, Cap,” Bitty said, throwing a mock salute before closing the bathroom door.

Jack went into the living room, rolling his neck and stretching his shoulders. It had felt wonderful to spend a day lounging in bed, but too much inactivity wouldn’t be good -- for him or for Bitty, who had to stay in shape almost as much as Jack did.

Jack sat on the couch where he had found Bitty when he walked in during the very early hours of Friday morning. For a moment, he’d been afraid he was hallucinating, seeing what he wanted to see. He’d hoped, of course, when he got Bitty’s message telling him to “come home.” If Bitty was still in Georgia, wouldn’t he have said “go home”? But maybe, Jack had thought, Bitty would think “go home” sounded too harsh. Bitty hadn’t said anything about coming home early, at least not to Jack, and Jack knew money was an issue for him. Of course Jack would have bought him a ticket home, but Bitty never would have asked.

Jack had stayed up just long enough to eat a bowl of something warm and rich and fragrant, and a slice of pie, because Bitty made it for him, then had crawled into bed. Bitty curled against his side, and Jack fell asleep with his fingers stroking the shorn hair behind Bitty’s ear.

Yesterday, he’d gotten the whole story, about how Bitty had wanted to come home, and how Coach Bittle of all people had come to the rescue, telling Bitty that Jack would want him there and offering to pay to change his ticket.

“Of course I want you here, _lapinou,”_ Jack told him, lying in bed at two in the afternoon. “I always want you.”

“I just didn’t want to be in your way,” Bitty had said. “And I know sometimes you want to be alone. I figured that’s why you wanted me to go in the first place.”

“Wanted you to go?” Jack asked. That didn’t make sense. Jack hadn’t wanted Bitty to leave. He understood Bitty wanted to see his family, and no matter his private opinions about the Bittles, he wasn’t going to stand in his way.

“Yes,” Bitty said. “I asked if you wanted me to go, and you said you did. It’s OK. I know I can be a little overbearing, and you had your parents here and everything.”

“No, Bits,” Jack said. “I never wanted you to go. But I thought you wanted to see your family.”

“Well not if it meant not being here when you wanted me,” Bitty said. “They could wait until July.”

“But I thought you wanted to see them on your own, so they’d get the idea that you’re still, well, you, not just part of a couple?”

“Did I say that?” Bitty asked. “Lord, I guess I did. It even sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?”

Jack had been confused.

“Why would you say it if you didn’t mean it?”

“Well, I think I did, the first time I said it probably,” Bitty said. “Before I realized what things would be like for you around now. And my dad had just come in, and it was good to see him without Mama there to be a go-between all the time. But then when the playoffs started and I realized how intense it was for you -- do you know you actually called me Bittle, unironically, one time last week? -- I just figured you’d be better off with me out of the way, but you’d feel guilty if I said it like that.”

Jack did feel guilty, a little, that Bitty had been feeling like a doorstop kicked out of place, but he also felt put out that Bitty hadn’t said anything.

This was the kind of thing that every therapist he’d ever had told him he had to communicate about, so he took a deep breath, determined to try.

“What is it, sweet pea?” Bitty asked, starting to look worried. “It can’t be as bad as all that, can it?”

“No,” Jack said. “Just, why didn’t you tell me you wanted to stay here? Or, I don’t know, just stay? I meant it when I said this is your home too. That means you can be here whenever you want. You don’t have to ask. I guess I’m a little upset that you felt like you had to leave and you never told me.”

“But it was playoffs!” Bitty said.

“I know,” Jack said. “But it would have taken like 30 seconds. ‘Jack, I’m not going to Madison next week.’ “OK.’”

“If you put it like that …” Bitty said. “I’m sorry. I should have said.”

“And I’m sorry you felt like I didn’t want you here. Even if I’m distracted, I want you here,” Jack said.

Bitty nuzzled closer into Jack’s neck.

“Weren’t your parents supposed to be back this morning?” he asked.

“Tomorrow,” Jack said. “I texted them after I got in to tell them you were here, and not to come back until Saturday. See? I don’t have a problem letting people know if they’re in the way.”

Bitty finally came bouncing out from the kitchen, dressed to run, with a crust of peanut butter toast still in his hand.

“What’re you waiting for?” he chirped, then stepped back as the door opened in front of him.

Jack’s parents were there. His mother embraced Bitty and whispered something in his ear while his father said, “We’ll just get our things and head for a hotel. Dinner tonight? We go back to Montreal tomorrow.”

“Only if you let me cook,” Bitty said.

*********************************

May 29, Bitty

“I feel like I’m getting ready for my first day of school,” Bitty said, taking off one shirt and pulling on another.

“You did a fashion show of all your new clothes before the first day of school?” Jack asked.

“Not for anyone to see,” Bitty said. “But I may have tried on everything I owned in every possible combination to try to come up with exactly the right outfit.”

“Which would make all the boys drool over you and wonder how they survived the summer without seeing you every day?” Jack asked.

“Good Lord, no,” Bitty said. “Not until Samwell, at least. And it worked, didn’t it?”

Bitty looked amused at Jack’s confused look. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t trip on the porch stairs when you came in your senior year,” Bitty said.

Jack blushed just a little,

“Those little shorts? And the tank top with that tan? That was for me?” he said.

“Maybe not just for you,” Bitty said. “I was enjoying having people look at me like I was something good, you know? But the sunglasses. The sunglasses were all for you.”

“How so?”

“So you couldn’t see me checking you out,” Bitty said. “Straight boy.”

He shook his head.

“How wrong I was.”

Jack sat up straighter on the bed.

“So what look are you going for tomorrow?”

“Young professional,” Bitty answered promptly. “With a creative twist. But not too creative for my first day.”

“I’d go with the dark gray pants then, with maybe that blue shirt? Not the dark one,” Jack said.

Bitty nodded as he pulled the robin’s egg blue shirt that Alicia had bought him from it’s hanger. He had chosen it because he thought it matched Jack’s eyes. He used to think they were icy; now they seemed warm and deep, like this color blue. Alicia said she liked it with his brown eyes. Go figure.

“Tie or no tie?” Bitty asked. “I’m leaning tie for the first day.”

“Bow tie,” Jack said. “You still have that red one?”

“You think?” Bitty asked. “With the blue shirt?”

“You need something strong with that color,” Jack said. “And I’ve always liked that tie.”

“Fine,” Bitty said.

“So if you’re getting your clothes ready now, what do you want to do tomorrow?” Jack said. “We’ve got the thing at George’s, but it won’t take all day.”

“I should probably spend at least some time looking for another job,” Bitty said. “I’ll need to make a little more money, or I won’t be able to afford to come up as often.”

“Bits --”

“And don’t offer to buy me a car again.”

“I would, you know. I’m not joking,” Jack said. “I’d buy you a bright red Mini, if you’d let me, or even just a five-year-old Honda. As long as it was was reliable. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about the train or bus schedule, and you could come and go as you pleased. It would be worth it to me.”

“Jack, we talked about this,” Bitty said. “It’s too much.”

“Fine,” Jack said, “but then at least let me pay for you to get back and forth. I told you, Bud, it’s just as much for me as for you.”

***************************

May 30, Jack

A year ago, Jack had attended Georgia’s Memorial Day barbecue on his own. The team had been out of the playoffs for weeks already, and he was the new guy coming in.

Much of it was still the same: the LaCroix in his hand, the sunny back deck, the hockey chatter. 

But so much was different. Jack had a hand in the desserts he brought, but only as a glorified sous-chef. Instead of an apple pie and a pan of brownies, there were two dozen gorgeous mini-pies in blueberry and peach; sugar cookies decorated like hockey players for any kids who were dragged along, and three dozen cake pops decorated in Falconers colors.

“He does know there are only about 20 people here, right?” George’s wife, Sandra, whispered to Jack while Bitty was fussing over the way his desserts were presented on the dining room table, which was serving as a buffet.

Jack had nodded solemnly before he said, “And he knows about half of them are hockey players.”

There were a few more people this year; Marty and Gabby were there with the girls, and Thirdy and Carrie and their daughter. They hadn’t left town yet, since the season had just ended Thursday night.

Bitty was known to all of them, and Jack couldn’t help but puff his chest out a bit when he heard the friendly greetings his boyfriend got.

“I hear you’re captain next year,” Marty said. “Don’t worry, Thirdy and I will tell you just how it’s done.”

“Uh, Jack was --”

“Don’t listen to Jack,” Thirdy broke in. “He’s only a rookie.”

“But Jack was my captain for two years!” Bitty protested. “I wouldn’t have made it at Samwell if not for him.”

But Jack suspected he wouldn’t have made it through his first year as a Falconer without Bitty, at least not as well as he had.

“Maybe you should listen to them, Bud,” Jack said. “They were my captains this season.”

Tater put down his beer to wrap Bitty in a massive hug.

“B!” he said. “You teach me this summer? To make blueberry pie?”

“Sure, whenever you want, Tater,” Bitty said.

“I’d like to get in on that,” Gabby said. “We could do it at our house, if you want.”

“Sure, that would be fine,” Bitty said. “And we record it and I’ll send each of you the video so you can look back at it. But don’t worry -- I won’t post it anywhere.”

“What if I want to post it?” Tater said.

“Fine by me,” Bitty said. “Especially if you link to my YouTube channel.”

“What’s going on?” George asked, passing a plate of cake pops.

“B is going to teach Gabby and me to make blueberry pie,” Tater said. “You join us?”

“Absolutely,” George said.

“Let me know what I need to buy,” Gabby said. “Enough for all of us to make a pie. And I’ll get the wine.”

“Fine,” Bitty said. “But I recommend the wine for while the pies are in the oven, at least for y’all.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen Bitty weave a lattice four drinks in,” Jack said. “It’s a little scary.”

“So when can we do this?” Gabby asked.

“I’m working this week Tuesday, Thursday and Friday morning,” Bitty said. “And I have to look for another job, too, so I’ll probably spend Wednesday filling out applications. Friday afternoon? Around 2?”

“Sounds good,” Gabby said. “Jack, you and Marty can take the girls somewhere.”

“But I can help,” Jack said. “I know how to bake.”

Marty shook his head.

“Just go with it, Jack,” he said. “Have you ever been to the Providence Zoo?”

“Isn’t that near the Museum of Natural History?” Jack asked.

“You’re still looking for another job?” George asked Bitty. “Like what kind of job?”

“Just something to make a little more money,” Bitty said. “Maybe another $150 a week or so? Last year, I mostly made extra money selling pies at the farmer’s market.”

“Can you do that here?” George asked.

“I don’t think so,” Bitty said. “The markets around here are all pretty well established, and I can’t afford what they’d charge for space. I’ll probably have to do retail or something.”

“What about online orders?” Georgia said. “You could set up a web site.”

“Or do more private lessons,” Gabby said. “We’ll recommend you. You could even do some for kids.”

“I don’t know if I’ll make enough,” Bitty said.

“I’m sure you will,” George said. “You forget -- everyone in our front office has eaten your desserts. If I tell them they could get your food for our events, they’d jump at it.”

**************************

May 31, Bitty

Bitty worked at not letting his knee bounce up and down while he waited in the chair outside Jacqui’s office..

He had a container of muffins and scones on his lap, a starting gift for his coworkers, and a brand new messenger bag at his feet. The bag had been a gift from Jack’s parents, presented by Jack.

“I’m pretty sure Maman wanted me to tell you it was from me,” Jack said. “But, well, you know I haven’t been shopping or anything. I feel like I should have done something for you.”

“Jack, sweetpea, listen to me,” Bitty said. “You’re letting me stay here all summer. I don’t think anyone could expect anything more. But I will make sure to thank your parents.”

Before he left the condo, Jack had taken his picture in his new clothes, messenger bag over his shoulder, and texted it to him. Bitty used his time on the bus to send it to Alicia and Bob with a text expressing his thanks.

Then he posted it to his Instagram, with the caption _All dressed up for my first day of work. How do I look? #firstdayjitters_

By the time he arrived, the image had been liked and commented on by nearly all of SMH and and good number of Falconers as well.

Tina Gallegos had commented, _Good luck, Eric! You’ll do great!_

Once there, Eric had been escorted to human resources to sign more papers and get his ID badge, then walked back to the communications office.

“Jacqui will be with you in just a minute,” said Angie, the assistant who had walked him around. “I’m pretty sure IT has your workstation and your email set up,” she said. “Would you rather sit there?”

Bitty looked around at the warren of cubicles. It looked like about half of them were occupied at 9:30 on the Tuesday after Memorial Day. If he sat at his desk, Bitty reasoned, he wouldn’t feel like he was so much on display, like a student waiting to be called into the principal’s office.

“Sure,” he said. “If you don’t think Jacqui would mind?”

“Not at all,” Angie said. “We’re pretty informal, at least within the office.”

“Actually, can you show me where the coffee is? I brought some muffins and things for the office,” Eric said.

“I was wondering what was in there,” Angie said. “Of course. We’ll go right by it.”

If they went right by it, it was only because Angie walked him past every cubicle, and introduced him to everyone who was there.

“This is Eric Bittle,” she told each person. “He’s the intern this summer. He’s going to be a senior at Samwell.” 

Then she told him each person’s name and what they did, information that Eric knew he’d have to find out again later. With any luck, they’d all wear their badges.

Then she said, “And he brought treats. They’re by the coffee.”

Finally he was at his desk. The workstation had a sticky note next to the keyboard with his username and temporary password.

“Go ahead and log in,” Angie said. “You can at least set up your email signature and stuff. And it’s fine to look at news sites. Just remember, don’t do anything on this computer you don’t want IT to know about. They don’t care if you use it for personal stuff occasionally, but use common sense.”

One of the other staff -- one of Bitty’s new coworkers -- walked up with a scone. 

“These are delicious,” he said. “My name is James, if you didn’t catch it before. You’ve got the baking vlog, right? Jacqui told us about you and I watched a couple of them. You’re good in front of a camera.”

“Thanks,” Bitty said. Good Lord, which ones had he watched?

Just then Jacqui arrived.

“Eric, welcome,” she said. “Step into my office for just a bit. But first let me get one of those muffins.”

Twenty minutes later, Bitty returned to his desk armed with the Facebook, Twitter and Instagram account names and passwords with instructions to take a look at them to see the kinds of things the hospital posted. He also had a list of local news organizations to call and update their contact information.

Jacqui had looked over his video proposal and said she liked it.

“We have to make sure we protect the patients’ privacy, and don’t do anything without parent permission, but I think we can get this approved.”

Before Bitty went back to his desk, she said, “I’m pretty sure someone will collect you for lunch in the cafeteria today. Don’t worry, none of them bite. Make sure you see me before you leave this afternoon; I want to hear your ideas on the social media accounts.”

Bitty found the cafeteria food to be better than expected, except for the baked goods, which were, frankly, horrid. His coworkers seemed friendly enough, even if Angie was the only one even close to him in age.

The social media accounts were well run, he thought, but there was nothing that made them stand out. Nothing playful or surprising. He shared his thoughts with Jacqui, and then headed for the bus stop. Who knew spending the day in an office could be so exhausting?

Definitely something easy for dinner, he was thinking when he opened the door to the scent of meat on the grill.

“Jack?’ he called.

“You’re supposed to say, ‘Hi, honey, I’m home,” Jack said, coming through from the kitchen.

“I have turkey burgers on the grill, so I have to finish cooking. There’s salad and fruit parfaits in the fridge. Everything should be ready by the time you change.”


	12. June 1-5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Bitty embark on their summer together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, none of this is mine. All gratitude to Ngozi.  
> Also, lots of fluff. Some of it is NSFW ... starting, somewhat obviously, when Jack picks up Bitty and says, "Couch or bed?" in the June 5 section.

June 1-5

June 1, Wednesday, Jack

“Bits, come on, shut down your computer,” Jack said. “We’re going to be late.”

“Hmm?” Bitty flicked his eyes up at Jack. “Late for what?”

“I got us the ice for a couple of hours. Come on, we could both use it. I’ve got a couple of drills to show you.”

Bitty looked interested, but he did not immediately close his laptop. 

“First, Mr. Zimmermann, I do actually need a job,” he said. 

“You have a job,” Jack said.

“Another job,” Bitty said. “And all these online applications have like 50 questions to answer, and like, they’re personality tests where some of the questions have no good answer, so I’m not sure what to say. And second, what kind of drills? Drills you think would make me a better player, or drills you think I should use with the team?”

“Both?” Jack said. “Not checking drills, I promise. Just things to improve speed and agility.”

“You have heard I used to figure skate?”

“I know, and you’ll probably be better at some of these than I can ever hope to be, but they might help you practice in hockey gear, and they might help the team,” Jack said.

Bitty sighed and closed his laptop.

“How long do we have the ice for?” he asked.

“Two hours,” Jack said. “Starting in a half hour, so let’s get moving. I was thinking maybe you’d want to actually figure skate at the end.”

“You mean you want to watch me figure skate,” Bitty said, and cocked an eyebrow at him. “We’ll see how tired I am.”

Jack grinned. Bitty would want to figure skate. He always wanted to figure skate. But Jack liked it when he was confident enough to sass him.

Once they were in the car, Jack said, “Why are you applying for those jobs anyway? You know they don’t pay enough and you’ll hate them.”

“Someone has to ring people up at Target,” Bitty said.

“But it doesn’t have to be you,” Jack said. “What about what George said Monday? Making a side business out of baking? It doesn’t have to be a market stall. You could just take orders. And I bet there are more people who would want private baking lessons. I can see you teaching kids to bake, or people who want to make something special for their partners …”

Bitty giggled. “Or bachelorette parties. I bet they have penis-shaped cookie cutters. Then they could decorate them.”

“OK,” Jack said. “My mind hadn’t gone there, but probably they do.”

“It would just be a lot of work,” Bitty said. “And I don’t know a lot of people in Providence.”

“Good thing you have an in with the most popular professional sports franchise in town,” Jack said. “And are working for a literal local institution. Seriously, can we ask if Tina would have time to talk to you about it when we’re done? Maybe have lunch with us?”

“Fine,” Bitty said. “But first I’m going to beat your ass in those drills you have.”

“Why is always my ass you’re focused on?” Jack said. “Could it be because you’re always behind me?”

“It’s because your ass is a much better feature than your chirping mouth, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty said. “Can’t blame a guy for wanting to look at it. Even Ransom and Holster agree that your ass is a thing of beauty. And don’t get me started on what Shitty has to say about it.”

“Speaking of Ransom and Holster, have you talked to them about a day they can come for dinner?” Jack asked.

“Not yet, but they should be back in Boston this week,” Bitty said. “Want me to ask them and Lardo for Saturday? We might get Shitty too.”

Once they got to the rink, being on the ice with Bitty felt like coming home.

Bitty managed to take the drills seriously, roundly beating him on several of them, but be playful and keep things fun at the same time. For the first time in weeks, Jack didn’t feel any pressure to win. He just skated for the pleasure of it, and it was a pleasure, even when Bitty managed to outperform him on edgework, if only because of Bitty’ delighted grin.

Bitty looked ethereal when he switched to figure skates, and Jack just watched in awe of his grace and flexibility. When Bitty was taking his skates off, he knocked his knee into Jack’s.

“You can teach me drills if you want, but how about you let me teach you some figure skating during the off season?’ Bitty said. “Nothing risky, I promise, and you’d need to get a pair of figure skates. But it might be fun.”

Jack considered. He already had signed on to work with a trainer for his conditioning. Figure skating could add something for variety.

“Fine,” he said. “But take it easy on me.”

Bitty smirked.

“Never.”

********************************************

June 2, Bitty 

_Stopping at the market for pie ingredients. Do we need anything else?_

Bitty shook his head at himself. Never in a million years would he have thought that he would be consulting Jack on grocery shopping; he would have thought Jack subsisted on protein powder and raw eggs or some such. But here they were. Jack had presented him with a recipe for a quiche at breakfast this morning.

“Is this OK for dinner?” he asked. “It's the one I made for Tater last year -- remember I texted you? I wanted to make it for you, and I know I can do it.”

“It looks delicious,” Bitty told him. “But you know you don't have to cook every day I'm at work, right?”

“I know,” Jack said. “But you always cook. For me, and for everyone else, really. You deserve to have someone cook for you, and I really have been learning.”

So now Bitty found himself texting Jack, more to remind him he would be late than anything else. He knew what it was like to have a meal piping hot and on the table and have the person it was intended for roll in 45 minutes past the time he expected them.

Jack texted back: _I remember. I got bread and stuff for salad on my way home from conditioning, but I think we could use more eggs. And any fruit that looks good._

 _Will do,_ Bitty replied, waiting for his bus. He could take the bus to the market, but he'd probably have to get a carshare from there to the condo. It wouldn't be expensive; it wasn't far.

Actually, if he invested in a collapsible cart he could bring on the bus, he'd be able to stop at the market and walk home. But not tonight. Jack would be expecting him.

When Bitty got home, he hauled the flats of blueberries, the butter, the eggs, the strawberries and peaches and lemons, from the car and set them in the lobby before he pushed the button for the elevator.

“Hi, honey, I’m home,” Bitty called, putting enough cheek into it so Jack would know he was joking.

Jack came out from the kitchen drying his hands on a dish towel.

“Just in time,” he said. “I just pulled the quiche out of the oven. Go change and I’ll set the table.”

“Smells good,” Bitty said. “I’m going to put this away and then I’ll change.”

When they sat down, Jack said, “So tell me about your day.”

“It was … well, it wasn’t totally boring,” Bitty said. “Did you know about the Good Night Lights?”

“The blinking lights? I think I heard something about them,” Jack said. “People blink their lights at night for …”

“For the kids in the hospital,” Bitty said. “People that are in view of the hospital blink their lights four times to say ‘Good night, Hasbro.’ It started with a nightclub of all places.”

“That’s really neat,” Jack said. “I guess I’ve seen the lights blink sometimes, but I never knew why.”

“Anyway, one day next week I’m going to stay late to get it on video from the hospital,” Bitty said. “Then put that on Facebook and Twitter. So that’s cool. And maybe we can get video of a kid signalling back, if Jacqui can convince some parents.”

“Good for you, Bits,” Jack said. “Are you all set for tomorrow?”

“Pretty much. If I pack a cooler before I go, can you take it to the St. Martins’ with you? I can’t take it all to work with me.”

“How about I pick you up?” Jack said. “We’re going the same place.”

“You don’t have to,” Bitty said.

“Nope, but I want to,” Jack said.

“Then that would be nice,” Bitty said. “Ransom and Holster are available Saturday, and so is Lardo. She said she’d ask Shitty, too.”

“If Lardo’s here …” Jack said.

“Shitty will come whether he’s invited him or not,” Bitty finished.. “As long as he leaves his pants on.”

“He’s gotten better about that,” Jack said. “In that way, maybe just that one way, law school’s been good for him.”

********************************************

June 3, Jack

Jack got out of Marty’s minivan and rolled his shoulders and arched his back. Who knew a 5-year-old could be so much to carry?

It wasn’t that Geneviève was heavy, really. She was just a little sprite of a thing. But when she had proclaimed herself tired and held her arms up in supplication to her father, Marty had just chuckled and shook his head.

“You’re big enough to walk, _chèrie,_ ” he said. “We just got here, but if you’re too tired we can go home.”

“I don’t wanna go home yet,” Geneviève protested. “My feet hurt. I just want you to carry me. Please, Papa?”

“No can do, _bébé_ ,” Marty said. “If you’re not too old for this, I am.”

Geneviève turned to Jack then.

“Can you carry me, Mr. Jack? You’re not as old as Papa.”

And Jack, _bless his heart,_ he could hear Bitty saying in his head, had complied, allowing the little girl to clamber on his back. Where she stayed for the next hour, tiny heels digging into his sides, hands alternating between clutching at his shoulders and gripping his forehead as her weight shifted this way and that. She demanded to be taken first to see the elephants, and then the giraffes, and then the alligators.

Marty and Michelle, a very grown-up 7, were giving him looks that he was pretty sure meant Geneviève should not be getting away with this, but they found it too entertaining to stop it, so he indulged her.

Finally -- finally -- she had slid off his back in the farmyard exhibit, taking off on her own little legs to look at the chickens and the pig.

Jack’s eye was caught by the giant Flemish rabbits. He pulled out his camera to get a picture for Bitty, then was besieged by the girls wanting to have their picture taken and look at his camera.

“Tell you what,” Jack said. “You guys just look at the animals and do whatever you do at the zoo, and I’ll take pictures of the animals -- all the animals, including you -- and then when we’re done I can show them all to you and your dad. I’ll send him any that he wants.”

Jack came to learn that going to the zoo was as much about the snacks and other attractions as it was the animals. Until they came to the snow leopards, which fascinated Michelle. She read every word on the display and watched the cat for a good, what, two minutes?

“Papa, can we get a cat?” she asked.

“No, _chèrie_ , your mother is allergic to cats,” Marty said.

“Then can we ride the carousel?”

“One time,” Marty said. “Then it’s time to go home. The zoo is closing soon, right?”

He looked at Jack. “It should be OK by now, right?”

It was 4 p.m. The zoo closed in an hour. Close enough to soon, and Bits and his baking class should be getting close to done, too.

“I think so,” he said.

The carousel was a short walk from the zoo, the centerpiece of a plaza filled with other attractions. It was a classic-style carousel, with dozens of horses and other animals for people to ride. Jack made sure he got a shot of the jumping rabbit along with plenty of the sisters riding together.

There were also a half-dozen food trucks setting up in the plaza, something Marty said happened every Friday. Maybe he and Bitty could go back one week.

But now, getting back to the St. Martin’s house, he was as tired as he could ever remember being.

“Come on, old man,” Marty said. “Let’s see what the kitchen looks like.”

There were three blueberry pies on counter, all of them perfectly fine, but missing the touch of perfection -- there was a crooked lattice here, a place where the rim of that crust had clearly broken and been repaired -- that would tell him they were Bitty’s handiwork.

But his nose told him there was more in the oven.

Bitty and his students sat around the table, half-full glasses of wine and a laptop open in front of them. Tater and George were there, and Gabby, of course, and Tina had joined them after responding enthusiastically to the idea at lunch on Wednesday.

Bitty jumped up as soon as he saw them.

“They think I can do this, Jack,” Bitty said. “Tina’s already got a website half-way done, and Gabby has me booked to teach kids at a playgroup and at birthday party!”

“Good for you, Bitty,” Jack said. “Of course you can do it.”

“And you, Miss Michelle and Miss Geneviève, will be among my students,” Bitty said. “Did you like when we made cookies before?”

“I liked decorating them,” Michelle said.

“Fine, we’ll leave plenty of time for that,” Bitty said. “And Jack, George thinks I should charge $75 for a group lesson, $125 if it goes more than an hour and a half. That’s too much.”

“Sounds about right to me,” Jack said.

“That’s on top of the cost for supplies!”

“OK,” Jack said. “But look -- you helped four people do something they could never do before, and they get to keep the pies, right? And I know you printed out recipes and instructions for them. I think that’s a very fair price.”

“Me too,” Tater chimed in. “Now I don’t have to wait for pie from B. I make my own. But you’ll still make me pie sometimes, right?”

“Of course I will, Tater,” Bitty said. “Always.”

“The question is, will you have enough time to supply desserts for some of our meetings and community events?” George said. “I brought the idea up in the office, and everyone is all for it.:

“I’ll make time,” Bitty said. “I promise.”

When Bitty had the last pie from the oven and all his things packed up, Jack gratefully swung into the driver’s seat.

“I can drive, sweet pea, if you’re tired,” Bitty said.

“I’m fine,” Jack said. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Just one small glass of wine,” Bitty said. “You OK?”

“Yes, and I know you could probably drive, but I haven’t had any alcohol, so let me, OK?”

“OK,” Bitty said. “That all? You just seem a little … like you’re kind of upset.”

“I’m fine,” Jack said. “Just, don’t get too busy, OK? I know it might sound a little hypocritical after the last few weeks, but I want time to spend with you this summer. I know how hard you worked last year, and how tired you were by the end of the day. Now that we can do more than Skype together, I want to actually be able to do things with you.”

“Things?” Bitty raised an eyebrow.

“Things like that, yes,” Jack said, not even blushing. He hoped. “But also go to the food truck thing at Roger Williams Park on Fridays, and watching the kids at the zoo, and, I don’t know, maybe go to the beach one day?”

Bitty was staring at him. Jack hoped he hadn’t pushed too hard.

“Of course, Jack, of course I want to do all those things with you,” he said. “And if this works the way they think it will, I’ll be able to make the money I need with just maybe a class or two and maybe a dessert order each week. Frankly, people at home would be appalled at what y’all are willing to spend for a decent pie up here, but I don’t mind taking advantage. And if I get too busy, well, you do make a good bakery assistant.”

********************************************

June 4, Bitty

Bitty pulled the chocolate pecan pie from the oven and slid in the lemon meringue. 

The steaks and asparagus were in the fridge, the mushrooms were marinating and the salad was ready to be tossed.The baked potatoes would have to wait for the pies to be done, but they could share with the dinner rolls that were rising.

Jack had purchased four bottles of Malbec to go with dinner, along with a couple of six-packs of Stella Artois. When Bitty raised an eyebrow, Jack shrugged. “I like Stella,” he said. “And let’s be real. Holster and Ransom and Shitty will all be bring beer, so no one will drink this. It’ll still be here at the end of the night.”

Ransom and Holster and Lardo (and Shitty) should be there within two hours, ready to celebrate their graduation and the beginning of the rest of their lives. It had been almost three weeks since Bitty had seen any of them, and he missed them, but he wasn’t as sad as he had been leading up to graduation.

Now he wasn’t looking around the Haus, trying to imagine what it would be like without people who had become family to him. Now he was planning ahead for his next week of work, and pulling out cookie recipes to use with the playgroup baking lesson Gabby had arranged for him. He’d gone running and to the rink with Jack this morning, and then they’d shopped for groceries for dinner together.

He was glad to see his friends, the first people he’d ever come out to, who set him up on terrible dates and weren’t afraid to hug him and loved his pie and would defend him against anyone … and, well, maybe he was still a little sad. But he was also proud of all of them and their accomplishments, and he wanted them to see that he’d be OK. 

In due time, everyone arrived together, riding in a car driven by Shitty of all people. Shitty didn’t really explain why he bought the car, but he didn’t deny it when Bitty said it would be awfully convenient for getting back and forth to New York.

Bitty handed the steaks over to Jack for grilling and sent everyone to the deck while he finished the rolls and tossed the salad.

Then he grabbed his wine and followed them.

Holster was talking to Jack.

“You look good,” he was saying. “I kind of thought we’d be using that spatula to pry you off the floor or something after that series. Bits must be good for you.”

“Holster, dude,” Shitty tried to interrupt.

Jack saw Bitty hovering by the door and smiled at him, the kind of smile Bitty had never seen Jack give anyone else, before he answered.

“It’s OK -- he is,” Jack said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, losing sucks. I hate it. I’d give a lot to still be playing. But what’s different is that now, I wouldn’t give everything.”

“Whoa, Jackabelle,” Shitty said. “You’re making me tear up. Sounds like love to me.”

“Says the man who bought a car because his, uh, friend, is going to school a couple of states away,” Jack said.

Lardo smirked. She and Shitty still hadn’t offered anyone any kind of definition of their relationship, and it looked like it was going to stay that way.

“That doesn’t mean we have to watch the game tonight, does it?” she asked. “Chowder’s not here to insist we watch the Sharks, and I’m still kind of pissed at the Pens.”

“Fine by me,” Jack said.

“Yeah, he’s recording it,” Bitty said. “He’ll watch it later.”

At dinner, Jack asked Ransom, “So what’s it like setting up housekeeping with Holster?”

“Not too different than the Haus, without Bitty’s food,” Ransom said. “Instead of going to class we go to work, instead of going to practice we go to the gym. We’ll have a party -- like, a real party -- one of these days. Have you all down to see the place.”

“Can’t wait,” Bitty said. 

“You going back to Samwell the first week of August?” Ransom asked. “Hall and Murray will want you there early.”

“I’ll still be finishing up my internship that week,” Bitty said. “But I can spend some of my days off in Samwell for the last couple of weeks. I talked to them about it before I left. And now it looks like I’m not going to have to get a second job after all.”

“How’s that?” Lardo asked.

“Some of the Falconers people suggested I do private baking lessons, like for parties and things, and Georgia Martin said she’d get the Falcs to hire me for desserts for some of their functions. I should be able to make enough that I won’t have to stand behind a cash register anywhere, and thank God for that.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Now he can get up and train with me on his off days.”

“Bro,” Lardo looked at Bitty. “You signed up for this.”

********************************************

 

June 5, Jack

“I concede,” Jack said. “Figure skating is definitely harder. Why do you put points on the toes? It’s like you want to trip.”

“Up,” Bitty commanded, helping Jack lift his feet from the couch so Bitty could sit down and pull them into his lap.

Bitty took his time examining each foot, looking for places where the reddened skin had actually blistered from their 30-minute lesson.

“It’s fine, Bits,” Jack said. “I’ve had blisters before.”

“But probably not from skating for a good long while,” Bitty said. “I know Bauer makes your skates exactly the way you like them. Anyway, there’s some chafing, but nothing actually blistered as far as I can tell.”

Bitty poured a little lotion into his hands, rubbed them together to warm it up, and started massaging Jack’s sore feet.

“Whoever fitted your figure skates did a good job,” Bitty said, taking a moment to check the skin on Jack’s ankles. He knew Jack no longer tied his hockey skates tight over the ankle, he had the strength and the expertise that fluidity mattered more than support. But Bitty had advised him to make sure his figure skates were snug.

“You really did well,” Bitty told him. “Even having to deal with the toe picks. You should have seen me the first time I skated in hockey skates. I fell all over the place. Then I waited for someone to yell at me for messing up, and no one did. I guess I never realized that falling was just part of the deal.”

“Don’t figure skaters fall?” Jack said. 

“Sure,” Bitty said. “When they’re learning something, or trying to push their skills to the next level. But it’s never a good thing to do.”

Bitty fell silent and Jack enjoyed the feeling of his strong hands on his feet. They were sore; the figure skating book was a totally different shape than his hockey boots, the blades were longer and heavier, and he had to move his feet just a bit differently to work the edges the way Bitty demonstrated.

But at least he knew enough about skating to understand the edgework.

“So when can I learn jumps?” Jack asked.

“When you get the OK from your coaches,” Bitty said. “How about we do some spins first? After you get a little better at the footwork.”

They were quiet again, and Jack felt Bitty’s hands moving up to press into his tight calf muscles. 

“Feels good,” he said.

“Thanks,” Bitty replied. “When I was a kid, Mama would rub my feet after practice.”

“I’d like to rub you,” Jack said. “But not just your feet.”

“Lord, Jack, that was awful,” Bitty said, but he had turned pink.

“Come here,” Jack said, swinging his legs off the couch and opening his arms. He helped Bitty settle into his lap and ran his fingers up and down Bitty’s back. He plucked at Bitty’s T-shirt.

“Can I take this off?”

Bitty pulled it over his own head in answer. “You, too,” he said.

“In a bit,” Jack said. “I want to focus on you for a little bit.”

He proceeded to kiss Bitty, first on the mouth, then down his neck. He sucked a mark into Bitty’s collarbone. It hadn’t been until last summer, during all those Skype calls, that he realized collarbones did something for him. Fortunately, they did something for Bitty, too, judging by the sounds he made when Jack mouthed at them.

At the same time, he stroked up and down Bitty’s back, going lower each time, until his hands were slipping under the elastic band of Bitty’s shorts, covering nearly the whole of his perfect round ass.

Jack gathered him closer and leaned forward, standing in one motion with Bitty in his arms.

“Couch or bed?” he asked.

“Bed,” Bitty said into his neck.

So Jack carried him into the bedroom, laid him gently on the bed, and set about slowly removing Bitty’s shorts and boxer briefs, taking time to nuzzle into the crease of his hip and inhale the scent that lingered in his crinkly golden hair.

He looked up to see Bitty sitting up on his elbows, staring back at him, eyes wide and dark in the afternoon shadows.

“I want to suck you,” Jack said. “But after that, what do you want? I can suck you until you come, or I can fuck you, or you can fuck me. Or something else. I just want to make you feel good.”

“Mission accomplished already then,” Bitty said. 

“Not yet,” Jack said. “What do you want?”

“If it’s up to me, I want you inside me,” Bitty said. 

“OK,” Jack said. He licked a stripe up Bitty’s cock -- it was really not fair for a human being to actually taste good, he thought -- and stood up. “Stay there.”

Jack quickly stripped his own clothes off and retrieved the lube and a condom from the drawer of the bedside table.

“Get back here,” Bitty said.

“I’m coming,” Jack said, leaning down to kiss Bitty before moving down and settling between his legs. He used his hands to push Bitty’s thighs up and then slicked his fingers before taking Bitty into his mouth.

He worked to open him gently while he sucked at Bitty’s cock, alternating bobbing his head and firm pressure, moaning a bit around it when he felt Bitty’s hips start to shift, back and forth, into his mouth and onto his fingers.

When Bitty cursed, Jack pulled off and said, “Keep going?”

“No,” Bitty said. “If you keep going, I’ll come.”

Jack pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of Bitty’s dick, then sat up to roll the condom on and slick himself with more lube.

Bitty watched him, and Jack knew he was preening just a little under Bitty’s stare.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Bitty said. “Sometimes I can’t believe I get to see you like this.”

Jack moved back between Bitty’s legs and tucked a pillow under him to make the angle easier. He pushed Bitty’s thighs up and apart, then lined himself and pushed into Bitty slowly, keeping his eyes on Bitty’s face. He kept still after he bottomed out until he felt Bitty arch up into him, trying to draw him impossibly deeper. Then he leaned forward, hands on either side of Bitty’s head, and began to thrust in earnest.

Bitty’s hands came up to grasp at his shoulders, and he allowed himself to be pulled down, to kiss Bitty’s mouth and jaw and neck.

When Bitty’s breath was coming in gasps and his hips were moving to meet Jack every time, Jack reached down with one hand to wrap it around Bitty’s dick and stroke, and soon Jack could feel Bitty tighten around him, and then Bitty was coming, and Jack was whispering how much he loved him. As Bitty’s orgasm waned, he said, “Come on, Jack, let me feel you now,” and Jack thrust harder again until he felt the tension in his body break, flooding his nervous system with bliss.

“God, Bits,” he breathed once he was ready to speak again. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, so much, Sweetpea,” Bitty murmured sleepily as Jack stood up, “So much. So come back here.” “I will,” Jack said. “Just let me clean us up and we can nap.”

After he returned to the bed and wiped drying semen off Bitty, he kissed the darkening love bites along his collarbone, then tucked himself in behind Bitty.

“This is what I wanted,” Jack said. 

“For this summer?” Bitty asked. “You wanted sex at four in the afternoon?”

“Forever,” Jack said. “And the sex is great, but what I meant was just having you here, where I can hear you and see you and touch you and smell your soap and aftershave in the bathroom. Just us, together.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering, penis-shaped cookie cutters are available on Amazon.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/justlookfrightened)!


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